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BY    THE     SAME. 


With  Portraits,   Crcrwn  Svo,   los.  6d. 

MONOGRAPHS-PERSONAL  AND   SOCIAL 

CONTENTS : 

SULEIMAN    PASHA  (COL.    SELVES). 

ALEX.  V.  HUMBOLDT   AT   THE   COURT  OF  BERLIN, 

CARDINAL    WISEMAN. 

WALTER    SAVAGE    LANDOR. 

THE    BERRYS. 

HARRIET,    LADY    ASHBURTON. 

REV.     SYDNEY    SMITH. 

THE    LAST    DAYS    OF    HEINRICH    HEINE. 


\ 


•) 


> 


i 

i 


V 


'-H 


y/ 


UJ/A/^ 


THE 


POETICAL   WORKS 


OF 


(RICHARD    MONCKTON    MILNES) 

LORD    HOUGHTON 


COLLECTED     EDITION 


IN    TWO    VOLUMES.— VOL.   I. 


WITH  A    PORTRAIT. 


^ ' .  ■•.•' 


BOSTON : 
ROBERTS    BROTHERS 

1876 


•  •     •    •* 


•      •        »   »    • 


•    « 
•    •    • 


-    -     •  •     r* 

*        •       •       *      •    X 


A' 


PREFACE. 

u 

'^c       "Poems  of  Many  Years"  was  the  title  of  the 

^  volume  privately  printed  in   1838  and  published  in 

1840;  but  the  years  were  few  in  the  ordinary  com- 

'^putation  of  life,  though  many  in  the  impressions,  the 

^  desires,  and  the  inspirations  of  youth.     They  are  here 

reproduced   with    certain    additions    and    omissions, 

-    together  with  the  "  Memorials  of  a  Tour  in  Greece," 

the  two  latter  published  in  1834,  and  "  Palm  Leaves  " 

sin  1844,  counting  on  the  interest  of  those  who  have  a 

local  acquaintance  and  historic  sympathy,  rather  than 

on  the  gratification  of  the  general  reader.    I  have  found 

=ii  certain  familiarity  with  my  writings  among  those 

.'ho  have  trodden  the  same  ground  and  felt  the  same 

^.sociations,  which  otherwise  I  had  no  hope  to  attain. 

I'he  Grecian  poems  have  their  date  in  that  period 

of  life  which,  in  a  cultivated   Englishman,  is  almost 

universally  touched  and  coloured  by  the  studies  and 


yl 


vi  PREFACE. 


memories  of  the  classic  world  ;  and  the  scenes  and 
personages  they  commemorate  are,  as  it  were,  the 
most  natural  subjects  of  his  poetic  thought  and  illus- 
tration. They  were  accompanied,  as  first  given  to  the 
public,  with  a  considerable  amount  of  prose  narra- 
tion and  some  antiquarian  research  ;  but  the  country 
has  since  then  been  so  thoroughly  explored  by  travellers 
and  archaeologists,  that  I  am  glad  to  avoid  what 
would  be  a  profitless  repetition.  There  were,  too,  at 
that  time,  earnest  expectations  of  a  regenerated 
Greece,  to  which  not  only  the  visionary  poet,  but  the 
sober  politician  must  now  look  back  with  disappoint- 
ment ;  and  the  agreeable  associations  of  a  glorious 
ideal  past,  with  an  approximate  interesting  future,  may 
be  said  to  have  passed  away.  Greece  may,  indeed 
must,  have  its  part  in  the  important  political  changes 
that  overhang  the  east  of  Europe,  but  there  will  be 
never  again  an  untoward  battle  of  Navarino,  or  a  Poet- 
hero  of  Missolonghi. 

The  majority  of  the  Italian  poems  were  inspired  by 
a  long  residence  in. Venice,  the  delightful  city  whose 
special  historical  interests  may  perhaps  be  weakened 
by  that  regeneration  of  Italy,  which  I  am  thankful  to 
have   lived  to  witness ;    and   whose  "  ruins  without 


PREFACE.  vii 


antiquity,"  as  described  by  a  cynical  German,  may 
lose  something  of  their  picturesqueness  in  a  revival 
of  material  prosperity.  My  experience  belongs  to  the 
period  when  the  traveller  only  saw  in  the  sad  beauties 
of  the  present  the  monuments  of  a  past  magnificence 
of  civic  and  artistic  life.  I  have  purposely  omitted 
some  Roman  poems,  published  in  previous  editions, 
not  in  disregard  of  the  thoughts  and  feelings  they 
might  record,  but  because  they  seemed  to  invest  a 
transitory  state  of  mind  with  more  meaning  than  it 
deserved.  The  personal  inclinations  of  the  moment 
are  no  fit  themes  for  verse. 

It  is  otherwise  with  the  poems  on  Oriental  subjects. 
There  the  Western  writer  can  only  be  the  interpreter 
of  thoughts  and  feelings  historically  alien  to  his  own 
civilisation,  and  to  which  his  subjective  relation  can 
be  but  imperfect  and  accidental.  The  translation, 
indeed,  may  exhibit  as  wide  a  variety  of  excellence 
and  worth  as  an  original  production;  its  merit  may 
range  from  the  shadowy  infidelity  of  Moore's  "  Lalla 
Rookh,"  to  the  truth  and  power  of  Goethe's  "  West- 
(iestliche  Divan  ; "  but  no  skill  or  ingenuity  can  impart 
to  it  the  full  satisfaction  of  the  poetry  of  Western  life. 
In   the   East  unconscious  passion,  undoubted  duty, 


PREFACE. 


unchallenged  faith,  complete  the  history  of  humanity ; 
— there  the  reality  of  objects  has  remained  unques- 
tioned, and  mankind  is,  as  it  were,  a  portion  of  eternal 
nature,  with  but  higher  faculties  and  a  larger  destiny. 
There  have,  indeed,  been  mystics  in  the  East,  asserting 
the  right  and  power  of  spiritual  intuition  above  the 
restriction  of  positive  ordinance  ;  but  the  motive  forces 
of  that  world  have  ever  been  Facts,  and  not  Ideas, 
thus  accounting  for  the  absence  of,  and  even  animosity 
to,  the  forms  of  Art,  and  the  habitual  confusion  be- 
tween the  notions  of  truth  and  power. 

In  my  attempt  to  delineate  the  great  theistic 
religion  which  Christianity  so  long  persisted  in  con- 
founding with  Paganism,  and  which  Roman  Catholic 
dogmatists  have  lately  defined  as  the  most  exten- 
sive Protestant  heresy,  I  was  perhaps  somewhat  in 
advance  of  the  present  state  of  opinion,  both  with 
regard  to  the  genius  of  the  faith  and  the  character  of 
the  Prophet.  There  is  not  perhaps  much  merit  in 
the  recognition  of  Mohammed  as  other  than  an 
impostor  or  fanatic,  for  Mr.  Carlyle's  Lectures  on 
Hero-Worship  had  made  that  vulgar  estimate  no 
longer  possible ;  but  it  is  to  the  more  elaborate  work 
of  such  writers  as  Sprenger  and  Muir  that  we  must 


PREFACE.  ix 


look  for  the  investigation  of  that  devious  path  which 
led  the  simple  positive  reformer  and  worshipper  of 
the  Unseen  into  those  mystic  regions  where  reality 
compromises  with  imagination,  and  where  the  insin- 
cerity of  the  Seer  towards  himself  impels  him 
irresistibly  into  untruth  to  others.  In  my  poem  on 
Mohammedism  I  have  adhered  with  scrupulous 
fidelity  to  that  wonderful  book  which  is  read  at  first 
with  difficulty,  but  afterwards  with  reverence,  and 
which  presents  with  vivid  power  what  is  now  the  life- 
belief  of  two  hundred  millions  of  men,  and  sub- 
stantially at  this  time  the  only  progressive  religion 
upon  earth. 

I  have  also  felt  the  embarrassment  of  writing  with 
apparent  knowledge  of  the  inner  habits  of  Eastern 
peoples.  Travellers  see  so  small  a  portion  even  of  the 
surface,  and  are  not  only  so  ignorant  of  what  lies 
below  it,  but  have  so  misapprehended  and  falsified 
even  the  external  relations  of  social  existence  in  those 
countries,  that  anyone  may  be  almost  afraid  to  con- 
jecture where  so  many  have  been  so  grossly  deceived. 

Yet  I  believe  that  I  have  given  true  delineations  of 
the  two  inviolate  sanctuaries  of  family  and  faith,  the 
one,  including  all  we  call  Home,  and  the  other  what 


PREFACE. 


we  mean  at  once  by  Church  and  Society  ;  and  though 
aUen  fashions  have  now  invaded  the  Hareem,  and 
booted  infidels  parade  about  the  INIosque,  it  may  be 
well  that  the  old  sense  of  these  institutions  should  not 
be  forgotten.  The  strange  re-appearance  in  the  dis- 
tant West  of  the  Prophet-rule,  accompanied  by  the 
revival  of  that  primaeval  form  of  marriage  with  which 
we  are  familiarised  from  our  childhood  by  the  patri- 
archal traditions  that  form  so  large  a  part  of  Protes- 
tant teaching,  but  which  we  believed  to  have  been 
obliterated  in  that  "  Orbis  Romanus "  of  law  and 
language  to  which  we  and  our  cognate  peoples  belong, 
reminds  us  that  no  lapses  of  time  or  intervals  of  space 
can  destroy  the  old  affinities  of  mankind,  or  prevent 
the  birth  of  analogous  institutions  under  certain  similar 
conditions  of  nature  and  mind. 

The  '■'  Poems  of  Sentiment  and  Reflection "  are 
mainly  the  product  of  that  lyrical  faculty  of  early  years 
which,  in  its  spontaneous  effluence,  apart  from  external 
circumstance  and  even  from  intellectual  qualification, 
has  been,  and  ever  will  be,  one  of  the  most  interest- 
ing and  at  the  same  time,  inexplicable,  of  mental 
phenomena.  It  has  occurred  to  me  in  my  literary 
pursuits  to  have  been  especially  impressed  with  this 


PREFACE.  xi 


form  of  genius  in  a  striking  contrast — in  the  poet 
Keats,  where  the  power,  though  prominently  instinc- 
tive, was  soon  fostered  by  sympathetic  culture  and 
genial  associations,  and  in  the  weaver-boy  of  Glasgow, 
David  Grey,  where  it  rose  among  the  harshest  and 
commonest  surroundings,  which  would  have  rendered 
the  acquisition  of  ordinary  literature  difficult,  and  its 
finer  development  apparently  impossible.  But  the  con- 
nection of  the  human  imagination  with  the  assonance 
of  words  lies  deeper  than  psychology  can  penetrate, 
and  thus  it  is  that  the  rudest  efforts  often  impress  the 
producer  with  a  sense  of  wonder  and  delight  that 
partakes  of  the  sense  of  inspiration.  Let  no  one  deal 
harshly  with  the  rhymester,  in  whom  there  is  any 
faculty  beyond  mere  imitation,  but  let  him  be  told  to 
read  and  learn  till  he  finds  that  he  is  only  one  among 
many,  and  that  his  gift,  small  or  great,  is  not  the 
especial  miracle  he  may  justly  at  first  believe  it  to  be. 
For  it  is  in  truth  the  continuance  and  sustenance  of 
the  poetic  faculty,  which  is  the  test  of  its  magnitude  : 
when  it  grows  with  a  man's  growth  in  active  life,  when 
it  is  not  checked  or  smothered  by  the  cares  of  ordinary 
existence  or  by  the  successes  or  failures  of  a  career, 
when  it  derives  force  and  variety  from  the  experiences 


xii  PREFACE. 


of  society  and  the  internal  history  of  the  individual 
mind,  then,  and  then  only,  can  it  be  surely  estimated 
as  part  of  that  marvellous  manifestation  of  Art  and 
Nature,  the  Poetry  of  the  world. 

On  the  other  hand,  it  is  equally  true  that,  while 
the  more  subtle  imaginations  and  noblest  cadences 
often  fail  to  obtain  recognition  and  audience  till  the 
heart  of  the  poet  fails  within  him,  and   delay  seems 
the  forerunner  of  oblivion,  not  only  have  single  poems, 
rising  out  of  the  very  dearth  and  desert  of  imagi- 
nation, given  delight  to  mankind  and  lasting  honour 
to  names    otherwise  unknown, — but   casual   phrases 
that  touch  the  unconscious  fancy,  and  refrains  that 
are  no  more  than  accidental  melodies  struck  out  by 
the  finger  on  an  instrument,  have  captured  the  public 
ear   and   become   parts  of  the   musical  language  of 
a  people.     It  is  a  good  example  of  this  odd  felicity 
that  the  burthen  of  the  "  Beating  of  my  own  Heart," 
written  by   me  in   a  moonlight   drive  to  visit   Miss 
Edgeworth,  in   1830,  and  thought  unworthy  of  print 
by  myself  and  others,  sliould,  within  ten  years  after, 
have  been  heard  by  a  traveller  parodied  in  a  chorus 
of    slaves    singing   in   the   cotton-fields    of  Western 
America. 


PREFACE.  xiii 


I  have  sometimes  thought  that  I  should  hke  to 
review  my  own  poems,  as  I  have  done  those  of  others, 
conscious  that  the  distances  of  time  and  the  altera- 
tions of  temperament  qualify  me  to  do  so  with  perfect 
impartiality  :  but  if  I  do  not  do  this,  I  think  I  can 
judge  them,  so  far  as  to  see  that,  whatever  little  hold 
they  may  have  taken  on  their  time,  is  owing  to  their 
sincerity  of  thought  and  simplicity  of  expression. 

The  more  purely  sentimental  are  the  earliest,  and  a 
fantastic  gloom  is  permitted  to  that  period  of  life,  as 
tears  to  childhood,  which,  in  later  years,  would  imply 
weakness  or  incapacity.     Thus,  such  poems  as  "  The 
Flight  of  Youth,"  "  The  Weary  Soul,"  "  The  Palsy  of 
the   Heart,"  are  but   the   expression  of  the   curious 
introspection  with  which  vigour  and  vitality  meet  the 
coming  possibilities  of  a  world  of  change  and  decay, 
and  in  which  fancy  often  misrepresents  the  past  as 
much  as  it  misapprehends  the  future.     They  can  only 
be  acceptable  to  certain  casual  moods  and  tempera- 
ments, while  "  The  Long-ago,"  "  The  Men  of  Old," 
"  The  Worth  of  Hours,"  "  Happiness,"   "  Domestic 
Fame,"  "  Never  Return,"  "  Requiescat  in  Pace,"  and 
*'  Strangers  Yet,"  standing  on  a  firm,  ethical  basis,  and 
aiming  at  an  apt  and  melodious  representation  of  con- 


xiv  •  PREFACE. 


ditions  of  thought  and  emotion  which  men  do  not 
wiUingly  surrender  or  forget,  may  hope  to  interest  a 
wide  circle  of  humanity. 

I  have  included  in  this  collection  some  occasional 
pieces  of  little  import  in  themselves,  because  I  have 
often  derived  gratification  from  the  revival  of  the 
events  of  my  time  in  the  memory,  by  such  small  land- 
marks of  history.  "  The  Funeral  of  Napoleon  "  antici- 
pated the  then  improbable  return  of  the  dynasty,  and 
the  memorials  of  the  Crimean  and  American  wars  may 
serve  as  records  of  tlie  sentiments  that  underlay  those 
great  political  contests. 


Fryston, 

March  1st,  1876. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

GREECE : 

THE   ELD I 

CORFU 5 

A   DREAM    OF    SAPPHO 8 

THE    RETURN    OF    ULYSSES I5 

TEMPE 17 

OLYMPUS 18 

A   VISION    OF   THE   ARGONAUTS  .  .  .  .21 

THE   SPARTANS   AT   THERMOPYL^           .           .           .      .  29 

GREEK    RELIGION 32 

MARATHON 37 

THE  CONCENTRATION   OF  ATHENS  ....  38 

PELASGIAN   AND   CYCLOPEAN    WALLS     .            .            •       •  39 

WRITTEN    AT    MYCEN.B 4O 

GRECIAN    SUNSET 4I 

A   GRECIAN   THUNDER-STORM 42 

CORINTH 43 

MODERN    GREECE       . 44 

ON   RETURNING  TO   GREECE   IN    1S42   .           .           .      .  47 

DELPHI 48 


xvi  CONTENTS. 

GREEC  E — continued. 

PAGE 

THE  TOMB   OF   LAIUS 51 

THE   FLOWERS   OF   HELICON 53 

MODERN  ATHENS            .                      56 

DELOS 57 

ITALY  : 

AN   ITALIAN   TO   ITALY           .           .           .  ,        .           .      .  60 

WRITTEN  IN  Petrarch's  house  at  arqua  .        .  64 

FEELINGS  EXCITED  BY  SOME  MILITARY  MANOEUVRES 

AT    VERONA 65 

MEDITATIVE   FRAGMENTS   ON    VENICE        ...  66 

LIDO 71 

THE  VENETIAN   SERENADE 79 

FROM   GOTHE          .           . 80 

A   DREAM   IN   A   GONDOLA 81 

ON   THE   MAD-HOUSE  AT  VENICE            .           .           .      .  85 

TO 86 

ODE  TO  THE   MOON   OF  THE  SOUTH     .           .           •      •  93 

PICTURES   IN   VERSE  : 

I.    PICTURE   BY   GIOVANNI   BELLINI            .           .  99 

II.    MARTYRDOM   OF   ST.  CHRISTINA      .           .      .  lOI 
in.   JESUS    AND    JOHN     CONTENDING    FOR    THE 

CROSS        .......  104 

IV.  Christ's  descent  into  purgatory   .     .  107 

SIR  WALTER   SCOTT  AT   THE   TOMB  OF  THE   STUARTS 

IN   ST.    PETER'S IO9 


CONTENTS. 


xvii 


ITALY — continued. 

THE   ILLUMINATIONS   OF  ST.    PETER's  : 

FIRST  ILLUMINATION  .... 

SECOND  ILLUMINATION  .... 

REFLECTION        

THE   FIREWORKS 

ON     THE     MARRIAGE     OF     THE    LADY    GWENDOLIN 
TALBOT  WITH   THE  ELDEST  SON   OF  THE    PRINCE 

BORGHESE 

ON  THE  DEATH  OF  THE   PRINCESS   BORGHESE     . 

ROMAN   RUINS 

ON   A   SCENE   IN   TUSCANY 

AN   INCIDENT  AT  PISA 

NAPLES   AND   VENICE 

CANN/E 

ON   LEAVING   ITALY  .  ... 

SWITZERLAND  AND   ITALY  .... 


PAGE 
III 

113 

114 


"S 
116 
117 
1 18 
119 
122 
127 
129 
i"^i 


PALM   LEAVES : 

THE  GREEK   AT  CONSTANTINOPLE 

THE  TURK   AT  CONSTANTINOPLE  TO  THE   FRANK 

THE  IIAREEM 

THE  MOSQUE 

MOHAMMEDANISM 

THE   SONG   OF   THE   WAHAEEES     .... 

ARABIAN   LEGENDS  : 

THE   PRIDE   OF   NIMROD 

ABRAHAM    AND    HIS   GODS 

VOL.  I.  . 


140 

145 
149 

153 
165 

169 
171 


XVlll 


CONTENTS. 


ARABIAN  LEGENDS — continued. 

MOSES  ON   MOUNT  SINAI 
SOLOMON  AND  THE  ANTS    . 

FALLING  STARS  

THE  INFANCY  OF  MOHAMMED     . 
MOHAMMED  AND  THE  MISER  . 
MOHAMMED  AND  THE  BLIND  ABDALLAH 
MOHAMMED  AND  THE  ASSASSIN 

EASTERN  THOUGHTS : 

THE  THINKER  AND  THE  POET    . 

THE  EASTERN   EPICUREAN 

PHYSICAL  AND  MORAL  BLINDNESS 

DISCORDANT  ELEMENTS   .... 

THE  TWO  THEOLOGIES 

LOSS   AND   GAIN 

THE  MOTH 

THE  SAYINGS   OF   RABIA   .  .  .  . 

PLEASURE  AND   PAIN   .... 
THE   PEACE  OF   GOD  .... 

CHRISTIAN   ENDURANCE 


IHE  KIOSK 

THE   PERSIAN'S   STORY  . 
THE  SYRIAN'S  STORY 
THE  EGYPTIAN'S  STORY 


THE  TENT 

THE  BURDEN   OF  EGYPT        .  .  .  . 

A  TliAVELLER's  IMPRESSION   ON   TllK   NILE 


CONTENTS. 


XIX 


•  PAGE 
OTHER  SCENES : 

THE   RIVER  TRAUN 258 

TO  AN  ENGLISH   LADY 260 

ON   THE  CHURCH  OF  THE   MADELEINE  AT   PARIS      .  26l 

ON    REVISITING  CAMBRIDGE 263 

THE  SAME 264 

ON  COWPER's  GARDEN  AT  OLNEY         ,          .           .      .  265 

ON   MILTON'S   COTTAGE,    AT  CHALFONT   ST.    GILES    .  266 
ANSWER  TO   WORDSWORTH'S   SONNET   AGAINST  THE 

KENDAL  AND   BOWNESS  RAILWAY            .           .           •  267 

TINTERN   ABBEY 268 

ON   THE   GRAVE   OF   BISHOP   KEN       ....  269 

OCCASIONAL  POEMS  : 

THE   FUNERAL  OF    NAPOLEON 27 1 

IRELAND,    1847 273 

A  MONUMENT    FOR   SCUTARI 274 

ON  THE  PEACE,    1 856 278 

CRIMEAN     INVALID    SOLDIERS    REAPING    AT    ALDER- 
SHOT      279 

COLUMBUS   AND   THE   MAY-FLOWER       .            ...  280 

CHINA,    1857 281 

AN   ENVOY   TO  AN   AMERICAN   LADY     .           .           .      .  282 
ENGLAND  AND   AMERICA,    1863           ....  283 
ON   THE  OPENING  OF  THE   FIRST   PUBLIC   PLEASURE- 
GROUND   AT   BIRMINGHAM 284 

workman's  CHORAL  SONG 288 

ON   THE  OPENING  OF  THE  ALBERT   HALL,   187I         .  29O 


XX  CONTENTS. 


PAGE 
IN   MEMORIAM  : 

LADY  CAMPBELL 292 

GEORGE  VERNON   COLEBROKE        294 

ARTHUR  AND   HELEN   HALLAM           ....  295 

MRS.   DENISON 297 

MARY  AND   AGNES  BERRY 298 

DRYDEN   AND  THACKERAY 302 

THE   DEATH   OF   LIVINGSTONE             ....  304 

GHAZELES    ....                      306 

BALLAD : 

GOOD  NIGHT  AND  GOOD   MORNING  .           .           .           •  SH 

VERSICLES 316 

TO  A.  H.  H 319 


MEMORIALS    OF    TRAVELS 

IN 

GREECE   AND    ITALY. 


THE    ELD. 


Oh  :  blessed,  blessed  be  the  Eld, 

Its  echoes  and  its  shades, — 
The  tones  that  from  all  time  outswelled, 

The  light  that  never  fades  ; — 
The  silver-pinion'd  memories, 

The  symbol  and  the  tale, — 
The  soul-enchased  melodies 

Of  merriment  or  bale. 

Oh,  glory !  that  we  wrestle 

So  valiantly  with  Time, 
And  do  not  alway  nestle 

In  listlessness  or  crime  : 
We  do  not  live  and  die 

Irrevocably  blind, 
But  raise  our  hands  and  sigli 

For'  the  might  we  left  behind. 

VOL.    T.  15 


MEMORIALS    OF    TRAVELS   IN 


Each  goodly  sign  and  mystic  letter, 

That  angel-haunted  books  unfold, — 
A^'e  cherish  more, — we  know  them  better, 

When  we  remember  they  are  old ; 
And  friends,  though  fresh,  and  hale,  and  cheerly, 

And  young,  as  annals  hold, 
Yet,  if  we  prize  them  very  dearly, 

We  love  to  call  them  old. 


Yon  scented  shrub, — I  passed  it  by, 

The  youngling  of  the  breeze  ; 
I  sat  me,  sad  and  soberly. 

Beneath  those  ancient  trees, 
Whose  branches,  dight  in  summer  pall, 

Their  gloom  in  moaning  wore  ; 
.For'  they  told  me  of  the  Eld  and  all 

The  mystery  of  yore. 


And  in  the  gusts,  I  thought  they  pitied 

The  falling  of  the  young, — 
The  fair,  the  subtle-witted, 

Fine  limb,  and  honeyed  tongue ; — 
As  man,  from  birth  to  funeral, 

Were  but  a  tragic  mime, — 
And,  they  the  kinsman  lineal 

Of  the  good  and  olden  prime. 


GREECE    AND    ITALY. 


I  saw  the  hoary  bulk  of  oceaa 

A'  couching  on  the  shore, 
With  a  ripple  for  its  motion, 

And  a  murmur  for  its  roar ; 
I  gazed,  but  not  as  on  the  dead, 

But  as  if  Death  were  held 
In  awe,  by  a  thing  that  slumbered 

In  the  deep  and  silent  Eld. 


The  golden  school  of  Eld  is  rife 

With  many  a  God-sent  ray, 
And  jewel-gleams  of  perfect  life, 

Hereditary  day  ! 
Alas  !  we  cannot  quite  awake, — 

But  when  we.  feel  we  dream, 
That  hour,  our  heart  is  strong  to  shake 

The  falsities  that  seem. 


For  our  bark  is  on  the  angle 

Of  a  wide  and  bending  stream, 
^\'hose  bosky  banks  entangle 

The  eye's  divergent  beam  ; — 
The  ridgy  steeps  hide  in  the  way, 

Whither  the  stream  is  quest, 
As  on  a  lake,  the  mirror'd  day 

Repeats  its  waveless  rest. 

B   2 


MEMORIALS    OF    TRAVELS   IN 


How  know  we,  when  so  clearly  still, 

AVhere  its  nether  fountains  be  ? 
That  it  welleth  in  a  viewless  hill, 

And  passeth  to  the  sea  ? 
The  tide  beneath  us, — where  it  welled 

Dull  sense  regardeth  not, — 
But  it  was  07ice  the  tide  of  Eld, 

And  we  have  not  all  forgot. 

Great  Art  hath  bound  a  diadem, 

Upon  his  front  serene, 
Whose  every  pure  and  charmed  gem 

Bedews  him  with  its  sheen  ; 
And  thus, — nor  deem  it  wildly  new, 

Nor  slur  of  idle  tongue, — 
But  true,  as  God's  own  words  are  true, 

The  Eld  is  alway  young ; — 

Young  as  the  flush  of  all-blue  light, 

Or  eve's  imperial  eyes. 
And  he  who  worshippeth  aright. 

Shall  aye  be  young  and  wise, 
And  gentle  as  the  virgin  dove 

That  primal  chaos  quelled, 
With  Nature  for  his  ladie-love. 

The  daughter  of  the  Eld. 

Sept.  2oM,  1832. 


GREECE    AND    ITALY. 


GREECE. 

CORFU. 

1S32.* 

"  It  is  an  isle  under  Ionian  skies, 
Beautiful  as  a  wreck  of  Paradise." 

Shellkv. 

Thou  pleasant  Island,  whose  rich  garden-shores 

Have  had  a  long-lived  fame  of  loveliness,t 

Recorded  in  the  historic  song,  that  framed 

The  unknown  Poet  of  an  unknown  time, 

Illustrating  his  native  Ithaca, 

And  all  her  bright  society  of  isles, — • 

Most  pleasant  land  !     To  us,  who  journeying  come 

From  the  far  west,  and  fall  upon  thy  charms, 

Our  earliest  welcome  to  Ionian  seas, 

Thou  art  a  wonder  and  a  deep  delight, 


*  It  will  be  seen  by  its  date  that  this  was  written  before  the  abandonment 
of  the  British  Protectorate. 

t  '2;^n>iriy  ifa.Tiivr,v.  —  Odyss.  vii.  79. 


MEMORIALS    OF    TRAVELS   LN' 


Thy  usual  habitants  can  never  know. 

Thou  art  a  portal,  whence  the  Orient, 

The  long-desired,  long-dreamt-of,  Orient, 

Opens  upon  us,  with  its  stranger  forms, 

Outlines  immense  and  gleaming  distances, 

And  all  the  circumstance  of  faer}^-land. 

Not  only  with  a  present  happiness, 

But  taking  from  anticipated  joys 

An  added  sense  of  actual  bhss,  we  stand 

Upon  thy  cliffs,  or  tread  the  slopes  that  leave 

No  interval  of  shingle,  rock,  or  sand, 

Between  their  verdure  and  the  Ocean's  brow, — 

Whose  olive-groves  (unlike  the  darkling  growth, 

That  earns  on  western  shores  the  traveller's  scorn) 

Can  wear  the  grey  that  on  their  foliage  lies, 

As  but  the  natural  hoar  of  lengthened  days, — 

ISIaking,  with  their  thick-bossed  and  fissured  trunks, 

Bases  far-spread  and  branches  serpentine. 

Sylvan  cathedrals,  such  as  in  old  times 

Gave  the  first  life  to  Gothic  art,  and  led 

Imagination  so  sublime  a  way. 

Then  forth  advancing,  to  our  novice  eyes 
How  beautiful  appears  the  concourse  clad 
In  that  which,  of  all  garbs,  may  best  befit 
The  grace  and  dignity  of  manly  form  : 
The  bright-red  open  vest,  falling  upon 
The  white  thick-folded  kirtlc,  and  low  cap 


GREECE    AXD    ITALY. 


Above  the  high-shorn  brow. 

Nor  less  than  these, 
With  earnest  joy,  and  not  injurious  pride. 
We  recognise  of  Britain  and  her  force 
The  wonted  ensigns  and  far-known  array  ; 
And  feel  how  now  the  everlasting  Sea, 
Leaving  his  old  and  once  imperious  Spouse, 
To  faint,  in  all  the  beauty  of  her  tears, 
On  the  dank  footsteps  of  a  mouldering  throne, 
Has  taken  to  himself  another  mate, 
Whom  his  uxorious  passion  has  endowed. 
Not  only  with  her  antique  properties. 
But  with  all  other  gifts  and  privilege. 
Within  the  circle  of  his  regal  hand. 

Now  forward, — forward  on  a  beaming  path, 
But  be  each  step  as  fair  as  hope  has  feigned  it. 
For  me,  the  memory  of  the  little  while, 
That  here  I  rested  happily,  within 
The  close-drawn  pale  of  English  sympathies, 
Will  bear  the  fruit  of  many  an  after-thought, 
Bridit  in  the  dubious  track  of  after-years. 


MEMORIALS    OF    TRAVELS   IN 


A    DREAM    OF    SAPPHO.* 

The  mariners  were  all  asleep, 

Save  one  half-dreaming  at  the  stern, 
Who  gently  bade  me  upward  turn 

My  eyes,  long  gazing  on  the  deep. 
The  wind  had  stol'n  away, — our  skiff 

Rested,  as  if  its  sails  were  furled, 
Upon  the  tide  which  softly  curled 

Around  a  triple-breasted  cliff, 
Whose  steeps,  in  mistiest  day-time  bright, 

^^■  ere  almost  above  nature  white. 
Bare-fronted  to  the  westering  moon. 

For  the  autumn  night  had  past  its  noon. 

I  prayed  that  not  a  soul  might  wake, — 

To  be  left  utterly  alone, — 
That  not  the  faintest  human  tone, 

The  silence  of  that  tinie  might  break  ; 
When, — as  of  old  the  alien  maids, 

AVho  sanctified  Dodona's  shades. 


•  In  the  legend  of  the  Leucadian  promontory,  which  is  fresh  among  the 
people,  Phaon  is  the  King  of  the  Island,  and  the  Poetess  a  foreign  Queen. 
He  slights  her  passion  ;  she  wanders  over  the  hills  in  agony  of  heart,  and 
heedless  of  her  steps,  she  falls  over  the  precipice. 


GREECE    AXD    ITALY. 


Drew  out  the  tale  of  human  fate, 

From  sounds  of  things  inanimate, 
Wont  with  inclined  ear  to  listen, 

Where  branches  rock  or  fountains  rise. 
Till  high  intelligences  glisten 

In  their  intense  Egyptian  eyes, — 
So  I  began,  in  that  light  breeze, 

Glancing  along  those  noted  seas, 
To  trace  a  harmony  distinct, 

A  meaning  in  each  change  of  tone, 
And  sound  to  sound  more  strangely  linkt, 

Than  in  my  awe  I  dared  to  own  : — 
But  when  in  clearer  unison 

That  marvellous  concord  still  went  on, 
And,  gently  as  a  blossom  grows, 

A  frame  of  syllables  uprose. 
With  a  delight  akin  to  fear 

My  heart  beat  fast  and  strong,  to  hear 
Two  murmurs  beautifully  blent. 

As  of  a  voice  and  instrument, — 
A  hand  laid  lightly  on  low  chords, — 

A  voice  that  sobbed  between  its  words. 


"  Stranger  !  the  voice  that  trem.bles  in  your  ear, 
You  would  have  placed,  had  you  been  fancy-free. 

First  in  the  chorus  of  the  happiest  sphere, 
The  home  of  deified  niortality  : 


lo  MEMORIALS    OF    TRAVELS   LV 

"  Stranger,  the  voice  that  trembles  here  below, 
While  in  your  life,  enjoyed  a  fame  so  loud, 

That  utmost  nations  listened  to  its  flow, 

And  of  its  presence  the  old  Earth  was  proud  : 

"  Stranger,  the  voice  is  Sappho's, — weep,  oh  !  weep, 
That  the  soft  tears  of  sympathy  may  fall 

Into  this  prison  of  the  sunless  deep, 
Where  I  am  laid  in  miserable  thrall. 

"  Not  of  my  mortal  pride,  my  mortal  woe 

Would  I  now  speak  ; — there  is  no  gentle  maid, 

Nor  youth  kind-hearted,  but  has  sighed  to  know. 
What  was  my  love  and  how  it  was  repaid  I 

"  I  had  dear  friends,  who  wept  with  bitter  tears, 
To  watch  my  spirit's  stream,  which  else  had  run. 

In  fulness  and  delight,  its  course  of  years, 
Wasted  and  parched  by  that  relentless  sun. 

"  Of  this  far  rock,  and  its  miraculous  power, 

They  heard,  emmarvelled,  and  with  sedulous  prayer 

Conjured  me  not  to  lose  one  precious  hour. 
But  seek  t]:e  cure  of  all  my  misery  there. 

"  '  The  Gods,'  they  argued  in  their  fond  esteem, 
*  Love  their  harmonious  daughter  far  too  well, 

Not  to  pour  forth  on  her  diseased  dream 
The  benediction  of  that  soothing  spell. 


GREECE    AND    ITALY.  Ii 


"  '  ^^'hen  many  a  one,  whose  name  will  never  shine 
On  after  ages,  there  has  found  release, 

How  shall  not  shc^  already  half  divine. 
Claim  the  same  gift  of  spiritual  peace  ?  ' 

"  I  told  them,  '  Thousands  in  that  chilly  deep 

Might  find  relief  from  their  weak  hearts'  annoy  :— 

Venus  herself  might  try  the  counselled  leap, 
And  rise  obhvious  of  her  hunter-boy  ; 

"  '  The  mystery  of  the  place  might  moderate 
Th'  authentic  passion  of  imperial  Jove, 

But  did  they  hope  for  me  that  common  fate. 
They  could  know  nothing  of  a  Poet's  love.' 

"  But  vain  my  words ;— the  tender-cruel  hand 
Of  blinded  friendship  guided  me  away, — 

I  would  have  died  in  my  own  Lesbian  land, 
Not  in  these  regions  of  the  waning  day  ! 

'•■  Thus  here  all  bootless  adorations  paid, 

I  dared  the  height  of  this  tremendous  shore  ; 

^\'hat  were  your  agonies,  ye  hope-betrayed  ! 
When  to  your  bosom  I  came  back  no  more  ? 

"  Of  the  mysterious  pass,  that  leads  through  death, 
From  life  to  life,  I  must  not  speak  to  thee ; 

Enough  that  now  I  breathed  another  breath, 
Beyond  the  portals  of  mortality. 


12  MEMORIALS    OF    TRAVELS   LV 

"  A  stream  received  me,  whose  tethereal  flow 
Came  to  my  senses  like  a  perfumed  sigh, 

From  the  rich  flowers  that  shed  their  light  below, 
And  bowed  their  jewelled  heads  as  I  passed  by. 

"  And  opposite  a  tide  of  sound  was  driven, 
That  made  the  air  all  music,  and  from  far 

Glimmered  bright  faces  through  a  dead-gold  heaven, 
As  in  an  earthly  night  star  follows  star. 

"At  last  I  came  to  a  gigantic  gate, 

That  opened  to  a  steep-ascending  lawn, 

Whence  rose  a  Temple,  whose  white  marble  state 
Was  fused  into  that  gold  and  purple  dawn. 

"  Sisterly  voices  were  around  me  chanting, 

'Hail!  Thou  whom  Song  has  numbered  with  the 
blest. 

From  fear,  and  hope,  and  passion's  feverish  panting. 
Pass  to  thy  crown,  a  Muse's  glorious  rest.' 

"  Entranced  I  entered, — but  there  stood  between 
Me  and  the  fane,  a  queenly  form  and  stern, 

Upon  whose  brow,  in  letters  all  of  sheen, 
I  saw  the  ancient  name  of  Themis  burn. 

"  She  laid  her  hand  on  mine,  it  felt  so  cold, 

She  asked  me,  '  ^\'hether  I,  whose  soul  had  earned 

This  highest  Heaven,  now  felt  serene  and  Ijold ; ' 
Then  I  into  my  conscious  self  returned. 


GREECE    AND    ITALY.  13 

"  She  asked  me,  '  Whether  all  that  heart-distress, 
In  which  my  yielding  womanhood  had  erred 

From  this  my  Goddess-state  with  bitterness 
And  shame  was  seen ; '  I  answered  not  a  word. 

"  Then,  piercingly,  she  asked  me  '  AVhether  He, 
Before  whose  charms  I  prostrated  so  low 

My  woman's  worth,  my  Poet's  dignity, 

Was  clear  forgot ; ' — I  answered  slowly,  '  No.' 

"Strange  strength  was  in  me;  with  consummate  scorn, 
I  spoke  of '  That  Apollo,  who  could  deem, 

That  by  his  magic  leap,  the  true  love-lorn 

Could  wake  to  bliss,  as  from  a  troublous  dream.' 

"  I  said,  *  The  promised  peace,  the  calm  divine, 
The  cold  self-power,  and  royalty  of  will. 

Or  there,  or  elsewhere,  never  could  be  mine. 
For  I  was  Sappho, — Phaon's  Sappho  still.' 

"  There  was  dead  blackness  on  the  golden  sky, 
There  was  dumb  silence  in  the  resonant  air. 

But  still  I  cried  aloud  in  agony, 

'  Heaven  was  not  Heaven,  if  Phaon  was  not  there.' 

*'  With  arms  upraised,  and  towering  looks  averse, 
That  fearful  Being  uttered, — '  Be  it  so. 

Blessing  thou  wilt  not,  thou  shalt  have  a  curse ; 

High  bliss  thou  wilt  not,  thou  shalt  have  deep  woe. 


14  MEMORIALS    OF    TRAVELS   IN 

"  '  Thou  hast  defiled  die  Gods'  most  choicest  dower, 

Poesy,  which  in  chaste  repose  abides, 
As  in  its  atmosphere; — that  placid  flower 

Thou  hast  exposed  to  passion's  fiery  tides  ; 

"  •  Within  the  cold  abyss,  degraded,  lone. 

Beneath  the    rock    whose  power   thou    hast   blas- 
phemed, 

From  thy  Parnassian,  long-expectant,  throne. 
Lie  banished,  till  by  some  new  fate  redeemed.' 

"  When  will  that  new  fate  be?     I  linger  on, — 
I  know  not  what  I  wish  ;  Oh  !  tell  me,  thou 

That  weep'st  for  one  thou  would'st  have  smiled  upon, 
Dear  Stranger,  tell  me  where  is  Phaon  now?" 

Here  paused  the  Voice,  and  now,  methought,  I  spoke. 
But  what  I  know  not ;  for  there  passed  a  shock 

Throughout  my  senses,  like  a  lightning-stroke  ; 
I  started  to  my  feet ; — the  tall  white  Rock 

Walled  the  far  waste  of  silent  sea,  the  morn 

Light-lined  the  East,  on  grey-white  wings  upborne. 


GREECE    AND    ITALY.  15 


THE   RETURN    OF    ULYSSES. 

The  identity  of  Ithaca  and  Thidke  is  satisfactorily  demonstrated  by  Sir  W. 
Gell,  and  other  writers.  There  still  remains,  too,  in  the  minds  of  the  islanders, 
the  legendary  remembrance  of  the  wandering  king  and  the  faithful  wife,  who 
weaves  and  spoils  her  web  for  very  sorrow  and  distraction.  The  localities 
are  quite  as  recognisable  as  could  be  expected  : — a  Grotto  was  discovered  a 
few  years  ago  by  the  shepherds,  just  above  the  .shore  of  the  deep  bay 
(Xiuivo;  -raXvliitifio;)-  which  bears  a  faithful  likeness  to  the  Homeric  por- 
trait of  the  cave  of  the  nymphs.  It  is  beautifully  hung  with  stalactites, 
which  are  evidently  the  "distaffs"  of  its  divine  inhabitants,  and  its  floor  is 
strewn  with  fragments  of  votive  amphorce  and  other  relics  of  ancient  worship. 

In  another  part  of  the  island  is  a  Fountain,  still  called  "  Melanneron." 
Now  the  cattle  of  Eumaeus  come  to  the  fount  of  Arethusa  to  drink  the  "black 
water;  "and  as  this  is  still  the  common  drinking-place  of  all  the  neighbouring 
cattle,  the  name  has  probably  come  down  from  the  Homeric  times. 

The  Man  of  wisdom  and  endurance  rare, 
A  sundry-coloured  and  strange -featured  way, 

Our  hearts  have  followed  ;  now  the  pleasant  care 
Is  near  its  end, — the  oars'  sweet-echoed  play, 
Falls  on  the  cliffs  of  Ithaca's  deep  bay ; — 

The  enemy,  on  whose  impetuous  breast 
The  hero  rode  undaunted,  night  and  day, 

(Such  was  Minerva's  power,  and  Jove's  behest) 

Scorns  the  inglorious  strife  and  lays  his  wrath  to  rest. 

And  how  returns  the  tempest-tossed  ?  his  prows 
Gay-garlanded,  with  grand  triumphal  song  ? 

Leaps  he  upon  the  strand,  and  proudly  vows 
Dire  vengeance  unto  all  who  did  him  wrong  ? 
Not  so  ;  for  him,  all  force  and  passion  strong. 


1 6  MEMORIALS    OF    TRAVELS   IX 


And  fretful  tumult,  for  a  Avhile  are  o'er, — 

He  is  borne  gently,  placidly,  along, 
And  laid  upon  his  own  beloved  shore. 
Even  as  a  wearied  child,  in  quiet  sleep  once  more ! 

There  is  no  part  of  that  archaic  Lay, 

That  strikes  with  such  resistless  power  on  me. 
As  this  pure  artist-touch,  this  tender  ray, 

A  perfect-simple  light  of  poesy  ; 

Not  the  nice  wiles  of  chaste  Penelope, — 
Not  the  poor  pining  dog  that  died  of  joy, — 

Not  the  grey  smoke  the  wanderer  yearned  to  see, 
Whose  wavings  he  had  traced,  a  careless  boy. 
Sweet  as  they  are,  for  me  this  preference  can  destroy. 

^\'here  the  "stone  distaffs"  of  the  nymphs  of  old, 
Still  make  rich  tracery  in  the  sacred  Cave, — 

'\\'here  peasants  the  dark-shadowed  Fountain  cold, 
Hail  by  the  name  the  Poet  found  or  gave, 
Where  on  the  Eagle-height  the  walls  out-brave 

All  time,  and  only  the  full-fruited  vine 

Trails  o'er  the  home, — it  may  be  o'er  the  grave, 

Of  Him  for  whom  these  memories  combine, — 

Rest,  care-worn  mortal !  rest,  and  let  his  sleep  be  thine. 


GREECE    AND    ITALY.  17 


TEMPE.* 

We  are  in  Tempe,  Peneus  glides  below, — 
That  is  Olympus, — we  are  wondering 
Where,  in  old  history,  Xerxes  the  great  King, 
Wondered,  t  How  strangely  pleasant  this  to  know  ! 
We  may  have  gazed  on  scenes  of  grander  flow, 
And  on  rocks  cast  in  shapes  more  marvellous, 
Now  this  delicious  calm  entices  us, 
These  platain  shades,  to  let  the  dull  world  go. 
A  poet's  Mistress  is  a  hallowed  thing. 
And  all  the  beauties  of  his  verse  become 
Her  own  ; — so  be  it  with  the  poet's  Vale  : 
Listen  those  emerald  waters  murmuring, 
Behold  the  cliffs,  that  wall  the  gods'  old  home. 
And  float  into  the  Past  with  softly  swelling  sail. 


*  The  repute  of  Tempe  as  a  proverb  of  surpassing  beauty,  is  exclusively 
Roman,  and  possibly  few  who  spoke  or  wrote  of  it  ever  saw  it.  Livy's  de- 
scription (xliv)  is  one  of  terror,  and  what  we  now  call  '  sublimity.' 

t  Herodotus,  vii.,  128. 


VOL.    I. 


1 8  MEMORIALS    OF    TRAVELS   IN 


OLYMPUS. 

With  no  sharp-sided  peak  or  sudden  cone, 
Thou  risest  o'er  the  blank  Thessalian  plain, 

But  in  the  semblance  of  a  rounded  throne, 
Meet  for  a  monarch  and  his  noble  train 
To  hold  high  synod ; — but  I  feel  it  vain, 

With  my  heart  full  and  passionate  as  now, 
To  frame  my  humble  verse,  as  I  would  fain, 

To  calm  descriiDtion, — I  can  only  bow 

My  head  and  soul,  and  ask  again,  "if  that  be  Thou?" 

I  feel  before  thee,  as  of  old  I  felt, 

(With  sense,  as  just,  more  vivid  in  degree) 

When  first  I  entered,  and  unconscious  knelt 
Within  the  Roman  Martyr's  sanctuary : 
I  feel  that  ages  laid  their  faith  on  Thee, 

And  if  to  me  thou  art  a  holy  hill, 
Let  not  the  pious  scorn, — that  Piety 

Though  veiled,  tJiat  Truth,  though  shadowy,  were  still 

All  the  world  had  to  raise  its  heart  and  fallen  will. 

Thou  Shrine  which  man,  of  his  own  natural  thought, 
Gave  to  the  God  of  Nature,  and  girt  round 


GREECE    AND    ITALY.  19 

With  elemental  mightiness,  and  brought 

Splendour  of  form  and  depth  of  thunderous  sound, 
To  wall  about  with  awe  the  chosen  ground,— 

All  without  toil  of  slaves  or  lavished  gold, 
Thou  wert  upbuilt  of  memories  profound. 

Imaginations  wonderful  and  old, 

And  the  pure  gems  that  lie  in  Poets'  hearts  untold. 

God  was  upon  Thee  in  a  thousand  forms 

Of  Terror  and  of  Beauty,  stern  and  fair, 
Upgathered  in  the  majesty  of  storms. 

Or  floating  in  the  film  of  summer  air ; 

Thus  wert  Thou  made  ideal  everywhere ; 
From  Thee  the  odorous  plumes  of  Love  were  spread. 

Delight  and  plenty  through  all  lands  to  bear, — 
From  Thee  the  never-erring  bolt  was  sped 
To  curb  the  impious  hand  or  blast  the  perjured  head 

How  many  a  Boy,  in  his  full  noon  of  faith, 
Leaning  against  the  Parthenon,  half-blind 

With  inner  light,  and  holding  in  his  breath. 
Awed  by  the  image  of  his  own  high  mind, 
Has  seen  the  Goddess  there  so  proudly  shrined, 

Leave  for  awhile  her  loved  especial  home. 

And  pass,  though  wingless,  on  the  northward  wind, 

On  to  thy  height,  beneath  the  eternal  dome. 

Where  Heaven's  grand  councils  wait,  'till  Wisdom's 

self  shall  come. 

c  2 


20  MEMORIALS    OF    TRAVELS   IN 

Ours  is  another  world,  and  godless  now 
Thy  ample  crown  ;  'tis  well, — yes, — be  it  so, 

But  I  can  weep  this  moment,  when  thy  brow 
Light-covered  with  fresh  hoar  of  autumn  snow, 
Shines  in  white  light  and  chillness,  which  bestow 

New  grace  of  reverend  loveliness,  as  seen 
With  the  long  mass  of  gloomy  hills  below : 

Blest  be  our  open  faith  !  too  grand,  I  ween, 

To  grudge  these  votive  tears  to  Beauty  that  has  been. 


GREECE    AND    ITALY.  21 


A    VISION    OF    THE    ARGONAUTS. 

At  V'olo,  a  Greek  peasant  asked  us  whether  it  was  true  that  the  first  ship 
that  ever  sailed  started  from  this  bay. 

It  is  a  privilege  of  great  price  to  walk 

With  that  old  sorcerer  Fable,  hand  in  hand, 

Adown  the  shadowy  vale  of  History  : 

There  is  no  other  wand  potent  as  his, 

Out  of  that  scene  of  gloomy  pilgrimage, 

Where  prostrate  splendors  and  unsated  graves 

Are  ever  rained  upon  by  human  tears, 

To  make  a  Paradise  of  noblest  art, 

A  gallery  of  bright  thoughts,  serene  ideas, 

Pictorial  graces,  everlasting  tints. 

To  the  heart's  eye  delicious, — pure  delight 

Of  Beauty  and  calm  Joy  alternating 

With  exercise  of  those  high  attributes, 

Which  make  the  will  of  man  indomitable, — 

Justice,  and  enterprise,  and  patriot-love. 

That  Peasant's  simple  question  to  my  thoughts 
Became  a  mystic  thread, — a  golden  clue  ; 
For  when  I  drew  it  towards  me,  all  the  veil 
Of  the  deep  past  shrunk  up,  and  hght  profuse 
Fell  round  me  from  time-clouded  memories  ; 


22  MEMORIALS    OF    TRAVELS   IN 

The  full-noon-day,  it  seemed  to  me,  went  back, 
And  passed  into  the  pearly  grey  of  morn, 
From  which,  in  outline  dim,  slowly  came  forth 
Pelion, — his  lower  steeps  {now  populous 
AVith  village  voices)  desolate  and  bare ; 
And  the  now  naked  range  of  loftier  rock, 
Thick-vested  with  a  mantle  of  warm  pine. 
Along  the  shore,  the  turreted  serail. 
And  bright-adorned  kiosks,  and  low  bazaar, 
Into  a  city  strange,  of  ancient  form, 
But  to  my  spirit's  sight  faintly  defined, 
Was  changed; — yet  I  could  palpably  discern 
A  crowd  that  stood  before  a  portico. 
And  a  thin  smoke  that  from  the  midst  arose, 
As  of  a  sacrifice  ;  and  close  beside. 
The  waters  rested  in  inviolate  calm. 


Upon  their  edge,  yet  clinging  to  the  sand. 
There  was  a  shape,  of  other  frame  and  kind 
Than  I  had  ever  seen  the  wave  embrace ; 
A  burden  of  full-armed  men  it  bore. 
And  from  its  centre  the  aspiring  stem 
Of  a  straight  oak,  Dodona's  holy  growth, 
Upsprung,  with  leafy  coronal  unshorn. 
The  joy  of  prosperous  omens  on  the  land 
Awoke  the  silence  of  that  solemn  dawn ; 
And  as  it  ceased,  a  clear  and  manly  voice 


GREECE    AND    ITALY.  23 


Out  of  the  shape  responded  musical, 

And  thus  its  meaning  sunk  into  my  soul. 

"  Not  with  the  rapid  foot  and  panting  breast, 

With  which,  be  Pelion's  dark-haired  front 

And  mountain-thickets  far  away 

Our  witnesses,  the  eager  heart  was  wont 

To  lead  us  to  the  boar's  absconded  rest 

Unwearied,  while  before  us  lay 

The  hope  of  an  illustrious  prey, — 

Nor,  by  the  impulse  of  Pherrean  *  steeds, 

Bearing  the  warrior  and  the  car 

Into  the  central  depths  of  war, 

While  he,  thus  winged,  hardly  heeds 

The  presence  of  opposing  spears, 

More  than  the  north  wind  fears 

The  grove  whose  mass  he  can  crush  down  like  reeds  ; 

— Not  thus  the  work  is  to  be  done, 

Which  this  fleet-passing  hour  will  see  begun. 

"  For  these  are  means,  whose  excellence  can  lead 
To  victory  in  the  practised  chase 
Or  common  usage  of  heroic  arms  : — 
Our  thought  is  now  to  do  a  hardier  deed ; 
Sublimer  energy  our  spirit  warms 

*  Vide  Iliad,  IL  763,  for  the  exxel'ence  of  the  hor;e^  of  the  hero,  the 
eponymus  of  the  house  which  gave  its  name  to  the  place.  Phers,  now 
Velestino,  is  near  the  Boebean  marsh  (ii.  711),  a  few  miles  to  the  N.W.  of 
Volo.  PagasK  was  its  port.  There  are  walls  and  the  site  of  a  temple  on  the 
hill  above  it. 


24  MEMORIALS    OF    TRAVELS  IN 


Than  bard  has  ever  sung  in  Grecian  halls  ■- 
A\'here  to  succeed  will  place 
Our  name  'mid  nations'  festivals, 
And  Avhere  to  fail  itself  will  be 
A  glory  for  eternity. 

"  Over  a  wider  and  more  dreary  plain, 

Than  curious  mortals  know, 

Trackless  and  markless  as  fresh-fallen  snow,- 

An  awful  space,  on  which  the  stain 

Of  human  foot  has  never  lain, — 

Uncrossed  by  cheerful  bird, — 

Where  never  sound  is  heard, 

But  the  unpausing  din, 

Half  laughter  and  half  groan. 

Of  the  Divinity  that  stirs  within, 

And  answers  all  the  winds  that  blow 

In  thunder-tone ; — 

Over  this  mystic  plain, — 

The  earth-enclosing  Ocean-plain, 

We  are  about  to  go. 

"  And  let  no  holy  fear  restrain 

The  hearts,  that  know  no  fear  beside  ; 

For,  not  in  impious  disdain 

Of  the  eternal  rules,  that  bind 

The  destinies  of  human  kind 

Within  sage  limits,  and  wild  pride. 

But  with  the  free  obedience 


GREECE    AND    ITALY.  25 


Of  a  most  perfect  reverence, 

Dare  we  the  untamed  billow  to  bestride. 

"  For  had  it  been  in  truth  the  imperial  will 

Of  Mother  Nature,  when  her  plastic  hand 

Did  the  vast  depths  with  buoyant  liquid  fill, 

'To  plant  a  barrier  betwixt  land  and  land, 

And  keep  each  portion  separate, 

Encircled  by  a  special  fate ; 

How  could  the  Gods,  the  everwise. 

Have  urged  us  to  our  enterprise 

With  favouring  voices  and  protecting  eyes  ? 

How  could  our  rude  sea-chariot  be 

Made  instinct  with  applauding  Deity? 

"A  just  and  noble  aim. 

The  Gods  with  love  regard, — 

But  the  self-glorious,  the  bold 

Wlio  honour  not  the  laws  of  old, 

A  jealous  justice  will  reward, 

With  woe  and  bitter  shame ; 

We  have  not  forgot 

The  miserable  lot 

Of  Tantalus,  ambrosia-fed, 

Tantalus,  whose  kingly  head 

Deep  in  deepest  Hades  lies, 

Eminent  in  agonies ; 

Even  where  our  journey  leads. 


26  MEMORIALS    OF    TRAVELS   LN 

In  that  Eastern  distance,  bound 
To  an  ice-peak,  ever  bleeds 
He  of  the  unclosed  heart-wound, 
The  unsubdued  and  godlike  one, 
Who  robbed  the  treasury  of  the  sun  ; 
But  he  such  warnings  little  heeds, 
Whose  soul  is  fixed  upon  an  honest  end, —       * 
Him  must  the  Gods  befriend. 

"  And  is  it  not  a  virtuous  aim, 
Even  to  the  earth's  extremest  shore. 
By  means  no  mortal  force  essayed  before. 
To  bear  the  glory  of  the  Grecian  name  ? 
To  spoil  the  spoiler,  wash  away  the  stain 
Of  foully-slaughtered  parentage,  restore 
To  Greece  the  precious  gift  of  yore. 
Kind  Gods  to  Helle  and  her  brother  gave, 
Though  Destiny  restrained  the  power  to  save. 

"  Thus  hasting  to  a  sacred  war, 

With  Paean  and  delighted  song, 

We  feel  our  feet  upon  the  Car, 
Which  the  broad-winged  Winds  shall  bear  along ; 
No  strength  of  ours  their  turbulence  restrains, 
No  will  of  ours  their  vagrant  course  commands, 
But  ye  who  love  us,  fear  not,  for  the  reins 
Are  in  almighty  and  benignant  hands. — 

And  if  the  blindl3'-falling  brand 


GREECE    AND    ITALY.  27 

Of  Fate,  that  neither  spares  the  wise  or  brave, 

Far  from  his  loved  paternal  land, 
Should  lay  some  Hero  under  the  dark  wave ; 

Yet  let  him  not  be  deeply  mourned, 
As  dead  inglorious,  or  cast  out  unurned  : 

For  the  fond-pitying  Nymphs  below, 

Will  cover  him  with  golden  sand, 

And  sing  above  him  songs  of  woe, 

Sweeter  than  we  can  understand ; 
The  grace  of  song  shall  breathe  upon  his  name, 
And  his  Elysian  bliss  be  endless  as  his  fame." 

There  was  a  moment's  pause,  and  then,  methought, 

The  exuberant  shout,  that  to  the  warriors'  strain 

Had  made  tumultuous  prelude,  came  again, 

But  with  still  loftier  passion ;  to  the  cause 

I  gave  a  quick  attention,  and  beheld 

Above  the  low  Magnesian  promontory, 

A  small  and  solitary  flaccid  cloud 

Lowly  suspended,  by  the  clear  round  sun  * 

(AMiich  seemed  to  halt  behind  it  as  he  rose) 

Gorgeously  glorified ;  to  this  all  eyes 

AN'ere  turned,  and  every  voice  a  homage  paid  : 

"The  Fleece,  the  Golden  Fleece, ^/^r  Golden  Fleece," 

Rose  in  a  storm  of  sound,  and  instantly. 

Though  with  no  visible  wind  or  ruffled  tide, 

*  The  sun  itself  was  supposed  to  have  its  bed  in  Ojlchis.     Mimnermus 
apud  Athen. 


28  MEMORIALS    OF    TRAVELS   IN 

But  as  impregnate  with  propelling  power, 

The  Shape,  no  more  dependent  on  the  sand, 

Into  the  open  waters  past,  serene. 

Then  as  the  Vision  fainted,  self-dispersed 

In  the  full-flaring  light,  a  melody. 

Whose  sense  I  could  not  justly  apprehend, 

But  that  it  was  of  blessing  and  delight. 

Emitted  from  th'  oracular  central  tree. 

Caught  up  my  heart,  and  bore  it  swift  along 

With  that  strange  shape,  into  mysterious  depths 

Of  placid  darkness  and  undreaming  sleep. 


GREECE    AND    ITALY.  29 


THE    SPARTANS    AT    THERMOPYL^. 

"  Stranger  !  go  tell  the  Spartans — we  obeyed 
All  that  they  told  us,* 

and  below  are  laid," 
Their  law's  and  customs,  t 

No  parleying  wiih  themselves,  no  pausing  thought 
Of  worse  or  better  consequence,  was  there. 

Their  business  was  to  do  what  Spartans  ought, 
Sparta's  chaste  honour  was  their  only  care. 

First  in  the  outlet  of  that  narrowest  pass, 

Between  the  tall  straight  cUffs  and  sullen  tide, 

Before  his  Faithful,  stood  Leonidas, — 

Before  the  Few  who  could  not  leave  his  side. 

Never  the  hope  of  such  a  precious  meed, 
Upon  his  most  ambitious  dreams  had  shone, 

Through  Him  the  Gods  for  Sparta  had  decreed 
Mere  fame  than  Athens  earned  at  IMarathon, 

And  more  than  this,  he  knew  in  that  proud  hour. 
How  high  a  price  his  single  Life  could  claim, 

That  in  its  sacrifice  there  lay  the  powder, 
Alone  to  save  his  father- land  from  shame. 

*  According  to  Herodotus.  t  According  to  Slrabo. 


MEMORIALS    OF    TRAVELS   IN 


Yet  was  he  loth  to  meet  that  sacred  fate, 

As  he  there  stood,  cramped  in  by  rocks  and  sea, 

He  would  confront  the  Persian  myriad's  weight, 
And  die  an  unbound  Victim,  fighting  free. 

One  more  fair  field, — one  last  unshackled  blow 
Strong  with  concentrate  vengeance,  this  was  all 

That  still  remained  to  fill  to  overflow 
The  measure  of  the  glory  of  his  fall. 

How  He,  and  They  who  followed  him  in  love, 
Went  forth  and  perished,  is  a  tale  to  tell, 

Such  as  old  Bards  to  Epic  music  wove. 
And  so  felt  he  who  wrote  their  Chronicle. 

iK  *  *  *  * 

***** 

The  symbol  Lion,  that  once  stood  in  stone 
Over  the  Lion-hearted,  is  no  more  ; 

Where  sat  the  Last,  on  their  sepulchral  throne, 
Is  now  a  thing  of  antiquarian  lore. 

Nor  mourn  for  this, — all  other  truth  is  vain. 

But  this,  to  know  at  heart,  that  They  are  there, 
Tliere  in  the  giant  clifiTs,  and  perilous  plain. 

Paths,  fountains,  forest,  ocean,  every  where. 


GREECE    AND    ITALY.  31 


Now  let  all  Thought  be  Memory, — calmly  wait, 
Till  clear  defined,  before  thy  Spirit's  eyes, 

Heroic  Dignity,  impersonate 

In  awful  phantoms,  silently  arise. 

Between  the  Men  who  noble  deeds  have  done. 

And  every  Poet  to  the  end  of  time, 
There  is  a  brotherly  communion, 

One  Father-God  has  made  them  both  sublime  : 

And  thus,  to  Thee,  there  can  be  nothing  dead 
Of  great  things  past,  they  live  in  thine  own  will. 

Thou  givest  them  form, — they,  on  thy  favoured  head, 
Virtues  of  earth  and  Heavenly  Love  distil. 


32  MEMORIALS    OF    TRAVELS   LV 


GREEK   RELIGION. 

Could  we,  though  but  for   an   hour,  burst  through 

those  gates  adamantme, 
^Miich,  as  the  children  of  man  pass  onward  in  swift 

generation, 
Time's  dark  cavern  along,  are  heavily  closing  behind 

them  ! 
Could  we  but  breathe  the  delight  of  the  time  when, 

fresh  in  his  boyhood, 
Out  of  his  own  exuberant  life,  Man  gave  unto  Nature, 
And    new    senses    awoke,    through   ever}'   nerve    of 

creation  ! 
Waves    of  the  old  ^gean  ! — I    listen   your  musical 

ebbing ; 
Smile  to  my  eye,  as  you  will,  with  smiles  clear-crystal 

as  ever. 
Bind,  in  your  silvery  net,  fair  capes  and  embowered 

islands. 
But  ye  can  bear  no  more  on  your  breast  that  vision 

of  glory, 
"When  in  the  cool  moon-dew  went  forth  the  imperial 

revel, 
Dolphins  and  pearl-shell  cars,  of  the  Queen  and  the 

People  of  Ocean  ; 


GREECE    AND    ITALY.  3.^ 

Whose  sweet-undulant  murmur  the  homeless  mariner 

hearkened, 
Over  the  undulant  sapphire,  and  trembled  in  glad 

adoration. 

How  were  ye  voiced,  ye  Stars ! — how  cheerily  Castor 

and  Pollux 
Spoke  to  the  quivering  seaman,  amid  th'  outpouring 

of  tempest ! 
With  what  a  firm-set  gaze  on  the  belt  triple-gemmed 

of  Orion 
Looked  the  serene  Greek  child,  as  he  thought  of  the 

suffering  giant, 
Panting  with  sightless  orbs  for  the  dawn's  miraculous 

healing  ! 
With  what  a  sigh  did  he  pass  from  the  six  proud 

deified  sisters. 
On  to  the  fate  of  the  fallen,  and  mourned  for  the  love 

that  dethroned  her ! 
Not  by  elaborate  charts  did  he  read  that  book  of  the 

Heavens, 
But  to  his  heart's  fine  ear  it  was  taught  by  a  heavenly 

master. 

Now  from  her  window  perchance  may  the  maiden  of 

desolate  Hellas, 
When  with  the  woes  of  her  love  and  her  land  her 

spirit  is  heavy, 

VOL.    I.  D 


34  MEMORIALS    OF    TRAVELS   IN 

Yearn  to  the  white-bright  moon,  which  over  the  curved 

horizon, 
CUmbing  the  air  still  flushed  with  the  flames  of  the 

opposite  sunset,* 
Seems  with  affectionate  eye  to  regard  her,  and  weep 

to  her  weeping ; 
But  it  is  now  not  as  when,  having  pined  for  Endy- 

mion's  kindness, 
She  with  the  mourners  of  love  held  personal  sympathy 

ever. 
When  in  the  sky's  void  chasms  a  wanderer,  she  to 

pilgrim. 
Over  the  world's  sick  plain,  was  a  dear  companion  in 

sorrow. 
Down  through  the  blue-grey  thyme,  which  roofs  their 

courses  with  odour. 
Rivulets,  gentle  as  v\^ords  from  the  lips  of  Beauty,  are 

flowing ; 
Still,  in  the  dusky  ravine,  they  deepen  and  freshen 

their  waters. 
Still,   in   the   thick-arched   coves,   they  slumber   and 

dimple  delighted, 
Catching   the   full-swell'd   fig,  and   the  deep-stained 

arbutus  ruby, — 
Still,  to  the  sea's  sand-brim,  by  royally  gay  oleanders, 


*  The  contemporaneity  of  a  transparent  moonlight  with  the  roseate  aether 
and  gold  and  orange  tracts  of  sunset  is  one  of  the  most  impressive  phenomena 
of  these  regions. 


GREECE    AND    ITALY.  35 

And  oriental  array  of  reeds,  they  are  ever  attended  ; 
But  they  are  all  dumb  forms,  unimpregnate  with  vital 

emotion, 
Now  from  the  pure  fount-head,  no  Nymph,  her  bosom 

expanding. 
Dazzles  the  way-worn  wretch  with  the  smile  of  her 

bland  benediction, 
Giving  the  welcomed  draught  mysterious  virtue  and 

savour ; — 
Now   no   curious    hind   in   the    noon-tide's   magical 

ardour,  ■■•■ 
Peeps  through  the  blossomy  trellice,  that  over  the 

pool's  dark  crystal 
Guards  the  immaculate  forms  of  the  awful  Olympian 

bathers ; 
Now    at    the    wide    stream-mouth    never   one,    one 

amorous  Triton 
Breathes   to   the   surge   and    the   tall   marsh-blooms 

euphonious  passion. 

These  high  Temples  around,  the  religious  shade  of 

the  olive 
Falls  on  the  grass  close-v/ove ; — in  the  redolent  valley 

beneath  us. 
Stems  of  the  loftiest  platain  their  crowns  large-leavbd 

are  spreading, 

*  On  the  mystical  power  of  noon  in  the  appearance  of  supernatural  beings, 
vide  Theocritus,  i.  15  ;  Lucan,  iii.  422;  Pliilostratus,  Heroic,  i.  art  4 ;  I'or- 
phyrius  de  Antro  Nymph,  c.  x.wi.  and  xxvii. 

D  2 


MEMORIALS    OF    TRAVELS    IN 


^Vhile  the  most  motley  of  herds  Is  adornhig  the  calm 

of  their  umbrage  ; — 
Yet  ye  are  gone,  ye  are  vanished  for  ever,  ye  guardian 

Beings ! 
Who  in  the  time-gnarled  trunks,  broad  branches,  and 

summer  enchantment 
Held  an  essential  life  and   a   power,   as   over  your 

members, — 
Soothing  the  rage  of  the  storm  by  your  piteous  moans 

of  entreaty, 
Staying  the  impious  axe  in  the  paralysed  hand  of  the 

woodman. 
Daphne,  tremulous  nymph,  has   fled   the  benignant 

asylum 
Which,  in  the  shape  of  the  laurel,  she  found  from  the 

heat  of  Apollo ; — 
Wan  Narcissus  has  languished  away  from  the  languish- 
ing flower ; — 
Hyacinth  dwells  no  more  in  his  brilliant  abode,  and 

the  stranger 
Reads  the  memorial  signs  he  has  left,  with  a  curious 

pleasure. 

Thou  art  become,  oh  Echo !  a  voice,  an  inanimate  image ; 

Where  is  the  palest  of  maids,  dark-tressed,  dark- 
wreathed  with  ivy, 

Who  with  her  lips  half-opened,  and  gazes  of  beautiful 
wonder, 


GREECE    AND    ITALY.  37 

Quickly  repeated  the  words  that  burst  on  her  lonely- 
recesses, 
Low   in   a    love-lorn    tone,    too    deep-distracted    to 

answer? 

What  must  have  been  thy  Nature,  oh  Greece  !  when 

marvellous-lovely 
As  it   is   now,   it    is   only  the  tomb    of  an   ancient 

existence  ? 


MARATHON. 


I  COULD  believe  that  under  such  a  sky, 

Thus  grave,  thus  streaked  with  thunderlight,  of  }'ore, 

The  small  Athenian  troop  rushed  onward,  more 

As  Bacchanals,  than  men  about  to  die. 

How  weak  that  massive  motley  enemy 

Seemed  to  those  hearts,  full-fed  on  that  high  lore, 

Which,  for  their  use,  in  his  melodious  store. 

Old  Homer  had  laid  up  immortally  ! 

Thus  Marathon  was  Troy, — thus  here  again. 

They  were  at  issue  with  the  barb'rous  East, 

And  favo'ring  Gods  spoke  out,  and  walked  the  plain ; 

And  every  man  was  an  anointed  priest 

Of  Nemesis,  empowered  to  chastise 

The  rampant  insolence  that  would  not  be  made  wise. 


38  MEMORIALS    OF    TRAVELS   IN 


THE   CONCENTRATION   OF  ATHENS. 

The   Poet   Keats,   to  whom  the  old   Greek   mind  seemed   instinctively 
familiar,  in  an  unpublished  fragment,  speaks  of  the  Greek  Poets  as 

"  Bards  who  died  content  on  pleasant  sward, 
Leaving  great  verse  unto  a  little  cUn." 

and  continues  with  a  prayer  that  he  too  may  attain  their  old  vigour,  and  sing 

"  Unheard, 
Save  of  the  quiet  primrose  and  the  span 
Of  Heaven  and  (ew  ears." 

Why  should  we  wonder  that  from  such  small  space 

Of  Earth  so  much  of  human  strength  upgrew, 

When  thus  were  woven  bonds  that  tighter  drew 

Round  the  Athenian  heart  than  faith  or  race  ? 

Thus  patriotism  could  each  soul  imbue 

With  personal  affections,  face  to  face, 

And  home  was  felt  in  every  public  place, 

And  brotherhood  was  never  rare  or  new. 

Thus  Wisdom,  from  the  neighbouring  Parthenon, 

Down  on  the  Areopagus  could  fax 

A  watchful  gaze  :  thus  from  the  rising  Pnyx 

The  Orator's  inspiring  voice  could  reach 

Half  o'er  the  City,  and  his  solemn  speech 

Was  as  a  father's  counsel  to  his  son. 


GREECE    AXD    ITALY.  39 


PELASGIAN   AND   CYCLOPEAN   WALLS. 

Ye  cliffs  of  masonry,  enormous  piles, 
^\'hich  no  rude  censure  of  familiar  Time 
Nor  record  of  our  puny  race  defiles, 
In  dateless  mystery  ye  stand  sublime, 
J^Iemorials  of  an  age  of  which  we  see 
Only  the  types  in  things  that  once  were  Ye. 

Whether  ye  rest  upon  some  bosky  knoll, 
Your  feet  by  ancient  myrtles  beautified, 
Or  seem,  like  fabled  dragons,  to  unroll 
Your  swarthy  grandeurs  down  a  bleak  hill-side. 
Still  on  your  savage  features  is  a  spell 
That  makes  ye  half  divine,  ineffable. 

'With  joy,  upon  your  height  I  stand  alone, 

As  on  a  precipice,  or  lie  within 

Your  shadow  wide,  or  leap  from  stone  to  stone, 

Pointing  my  steps  with  careful  discipline, 

And  think  of  those  grand  limbs  whose  nerve  could 

bear 
These  masses  to  their  places  in  mid-air  ; 

Of  Anakim,  and  Titans,  and  of  days 
Saturnian,  when  the  spirit  of  man  was  knit 


40  MEMORIALS    OF    TRAVELS   L.V 

So  close  to  Nature,  that  his  best  essays 

At  Art  were  but  in  all  to  follow  it, 

In  all, — dimension,  dignity,  degree  ; 

And  thus  these  mighty  things  were  made  to  be. 


WRITTEN   AT   MYCEN^. 

I  SAW  a  weird  procession  glide  along 
The  vestibule  ■"•  before  the  Lion's  gate  ;  t 
A  Man  of  godlike  limb  and  warrior  state, 
Who  never  looked  behind  him,  led  the  throng ; 
Next  a  pale  Girl,  singing  sweet  sorrow,  met 
My  eyes,  who  ever  pointed  to  a  fleck 
Of  ingrained  crimson  on  her  marble  neck ; 
Her  a  fierce  Woman,  armed  with  knife  and  net, 
Close  followed,  whom  a  Youth  pursued  with  smile, 
Once  mild,  now  bitter-mad,  himself  the  while 
Pursued  by  three  foul  Shapes,  gory  and  grey  : 
Dread  family !  .  .  .  I  saw  another  day 
The  phantom  of  that  Youth,  sitting  alone, 
Quiet,  thought-bound,  a  stone  upon  a  stone. 

*  ^Do-rev\tt,  raSf-     Elect.  1391. 

t  This  piece  of  Archaic  sculpture  is  very  spirited  ;  I  think  the  Lions  coiild 
not  have  had  tlieir  heads  as  Clarke  describes  ;  they  must  have  been  thrown 
more  back,  like  the  Lions  rampant  in  oar  heraldic  bearings. 


GREECE    AND    ITALY.  41 


GRECIAN   SUNSET. 

The  modern  Greek  phrase  for  the  setting  of  the  sun  is  "  'Q^fi'Kivii  o  7JX/af," 
"the  sun  reigns,"  or  "the  sun  is  a  king."  One  interpretation  of  this  expres- 
sion was  given  me,  viz.,  that  in  the  vesper  anthem  beginning  with  the  words, 
*''0  Kupio;  BccffiXiZu,"  "the  Lord  reigns,"  the  action  was  transferred  to 
the  sun  itself,  in  the  same  feeling  as  the  "Ave  Maria"  is  the  synonym  of  the 
close  of  an  Italian  day.  Another  explanation  1  have  formed  into  the  follow- 
ing lines. 

In  perfect  Kingliness  now  reigns  the  Sun ; 

At  morn,  as  one  who  girds  himself  for  speed, 
A  Hero  prompt  to  do  a  might)'  deed, 

And  not  to  rest  until  the  deed  be  done, 
He  rose  : — at  noon  he  wore  the  guise  of  one, 

"WTio  feels  the  purpose  that  his  will  decreed 
Half-perfect,  and  goes  onward  to  his  meed, 

Stronger  than  were  his  labour  just  begun  ; 
And  now  his  aim  attained,  his  triumph  known. 

In  conscious  dignity  he  mounts  his  throne 
Of  golden  air,  and  ere  the  eve  can  spread 

Her  pale-rose  veil  above  his  royal  head. 
No  courtier  clouds  around  him,  to  the  bed 

Of  a  victorious  rest,  he  passes  all  alone. 


42  MEMORIALS    OF    TRAVELS   IN 


A   GRECIAN   THUNDER-STORM. 

The  Thtinder  came  not  with  one  awful  pulse, 

When  the  wide  Heaven  seems  quaking  to  its  heart, 

But  in  a  current  of  tumultuous  noise, 

Crash  upon  crash, — a  multitudinous  clang 

Of  cymbals  beating  in  the  low-hung  clouds, — 

And  every  shortest  interspace  filled  up 

With  echoes  vivid  as  their  parent  sounds. 

The  lightning  came  not  in  one  flash  of  light, 

Soon  yielding  to  the  darkness,  (which  ere  long 

Is  routed  by  another  winged  blaze,) 

But  with  no  pause,  and  swaying  to  and  fro, 

As  if  the  common  air  was  turned  to  flame. 

So  mused  I,  from  this  hot  and  furious  scene 

Drawing  a  timely  lesson  of  calm  Truth, 

So, — when  great  nations  are  awake  at  heart. 

And  rise  embattled,  from  an  ancient  sleep 

Sudden  aroused  by  some  consummate  deed 

Of  reckless  tyranny,  or  glad  to  stand 

For  heir-loom  rights,  familiar  liberties, 

Through  pain  and  loss  and  terror,  unto  death, — 

Should  be  the  expression  of  their  energies, — 

Earnest,  intense,  impassioned  as  you  will. 

But  with  no  pause  ;  the  fruit  is  Victory. 


GREECE    AND    ITALY.  43 


CORINTH, 


ON    LEAVING   GREECE. 


I  STOOD  upon  that  great  Acropolis, 

The  turret-gate  of  Nature's  citadel. 

Where  once  again,  from  slavery's  thick  abyss 

Strangely  delivered,  Grecian  warriors  dwell. 

I  watched  the  bosom  of  Parnassus  swell, 

I  traced  Eleusis,  Athens,  Salamis, 

And  that  rude  fane  *  below,  which  lives  to  tell 

Where  reigned  the  City  of  luxurious  bliss. 

Within  the  maze  of  great  Antiquity 

My  spirit  wandered  tremblingly  along  ; — 

As  one  who  with  rapt  ears  to  a  wild  song 

Hearkens  some  while, — then  knows  not  whether  he 

Has  comprehended  all  its  melody, 

So  in  that  parting  hour  was  it  with  Greece  and  me. 


*  It  is  very  curious  that  some  awkward  ill-proportioned  ruins  should  be 
the  only  memorials  of  that  Corinth,  whose  exquisite  refinement  in  all  that 
could  charm  and  embellish  life  was  a  proverb  with  the  world,  and  who  ex- 
tended her  existence  so  far  into  ihe  later  domains  of  Roman  time.  It  may 
be  that  there  was  some  sanctity  attached  to  this  temple,  from  its  very  age 
and  ungainliness,  which  preserved  it  amid  the  annihilation  of  other  more 
sumptuous  and  polished  edifices. 


41  MEMORIALS    OF    TRAVELS   IN 


MODERN    CxREECE. 

As,  in  the  legend  which  our  childhood  loved, 
The  destined  prince  was  guided  to  the  bed, 
Where,  many  a  silent  year,  the  charmed  Alaid 
Lay  still,  as  though  she  were  not ;  nor  could  wake. 
Till  the  first  touch  of  his  appointed  hand 
With  the  deep  fountains  of  her  subtle  being 
Made  sympathy,  and  in  her  virgin  bosom 
The  pulse  of  breath,  that  so  long  had  beat  on 
Its  regular  measure,  trembled  and  grew  fast, 
And  the  long  fringes  parted  on  her  eyes, — 
And  she  to  her  old  world  of  light  and  sense 
Was  born  again  ;  so  the  Invisible  Power, 
A\'hose  awful  presence  is  upon  our  earth 
Above  all  dominations,  came  at  last 
To  Greece,  and  laid  the  magic  of  his  hand 
Upon  her  sleep,  and  she  obedient  rose. 


She  rose,  but  not  as  that  enchanted  ladie, 
To  whose  unsullied  beauty  sleep  had  been 
But  as  a  veil,  to  guard  off  impure  Time 
From  breathing  on  it,  and  had  left  no  trace 
Of  its  existence,  but  the  long  gold  hair, 


GREECE    AND    ITALY.  45 

Tliat,  like  a  vestment,  folded  round  her  form  ; 
Nor,  even  as  they,  who  on  tins  vulgar  orb 
Rise  from  their  night's  brief  slumbers,  hale  and  fresh, 
"With  all  the  toil  of  yesterday  behind  them  ; — 
No,  Nations  sleep  not  thus, — their  sleep  and  rest 
Has  more  of  death  about  it, — in  its  hours 
Silent  corruption  works,  and  slow  decay; 
And  when  some  special  grace  bids  them  awake, 
Half-blinded,  with  worn  hearts,  and  sense  confused, 
They  rush  in  fury  from  their  couch  of  shame. 
Proclaim  themselves  new-born,  and  free,  and  young, 
Nothing  of  youth  about  them,  but  its  passions. 
Its  vigorous  lusts,  and  recklessness  of  ends. — 


Oh  !  would'st  Thou,  from  thy  hot  delirious  dream, 
Look  out  upon  the  calm  of  long-past  time, 
Thine  own  briglit  natural  youth,  willing  to  learn  ; 
AVould  only  Greece  remember  what  she  was,    • 
And  then  what  made  her  so  ; — would  she  remember 
That  distant  History  records  a  time, 
Though  in  the  splendour  of  the  after-light 
Nearly  obliterate,  when  she  was  as  bare 
Of  every  element  of  social  being. 
Of  every  use  of  moral  energies. 
Of  all  that  can  transform  humanity 
From  the  wild  warrior-savage,  instinct-led, 
Into  the  thinking,  acting  citizen, 


46  MEMORIALS    OF    TRAVELS    IN 

As  now,  or  more  so  ;  but  her  infant  soul, 
Soon  from  that  rude  and  miserable  state, 
Into  a  youth  of  healthy-springing  thoughts, 
Gay  simple  fancies,  aspirations  high. 
Expanded  under  tutelary  care 
Of  two  wise  nurses,  delegates  of  God, 
The  Love  of  Beauty  and  vSelf-sacrifice  : 
And  when,  in  the  full  time,  came  slowly  on 
Life's  manly  mood,  and  consciousness  mature, 
She,  the  fair  faith  and  natural  impulses 
That  waited  on  her  morning,  taking  up 
Into  the  accomplished  glory  of  her  noon, 
Never  forgot,  through  all  the  growth  of  wealth. 
And  martial  action,  and  scholastic  pride. 
Her  first  affections, — and  possessed  at  once, ' 
A  Mind  informed  by  sage  experience. 
And  a  Heart  fresh  as  it  had  come  from  heaven. 


What,  though  the  curse  of  this  unresting  world, 
The  influence  that  will  let  no  greatness  be, 
IVIerged  in  the  blackness  of  barbaric  night, 
This  model  of  the  perfect  equipoise, 
And  just  appliance  of  all  human  powers ; 
Yet  still  for  You,  born  of  a  second  dawn, 
The  children  of  another  germ  of  life. 
It  has  a  voice  of  loud  authority; 
By  the  same  laws  it  bids  you  train  your  minds, 


GREECE    AND   ITALY.  47 

To  the  same  tutelage  submit  your  hearts, 
And  to  the  sum  of  wisdom  there  laid  up, 
Adding  the  priceless  gems  of  Christian  truth. 
Be  owners  of  a  treasury  of  such  wealth, 
As  all  the  spirit  of  nations  has  not  known. 


ON    RETURNING   TO    GREECE   IN    1S42. 

Ten  years  ago  I  deemed  that  if  once  more 

I  trod  on  Grecian  soil,  'twould  be  to  find 

The  presence  of  a  great  informing  mind 

That  should  the  glorious  past  somewise  restore ; 

And  now  I  cry,  with  disappointment  sore, 

"  Is  it  for  this  that  Greece  has  striven  and  pined,- 

These  her  rich  vales  with  scarce  a  labouring  hind, 

These  silent  havens  on  this  faded  shore  ?  " 

Still  patience — patience  with  the  toils  of  Time  ; 

The  air  of  freedom  is  not  always  health, 

Yet  vain  without  it  every  hope  sublime  : 

Better  a  nation's  growth,  however  slow, 

That  is  its  own,  than  any  strength  or  wealth 

Conferred  or  cultured  by  a  friend  or  foe. 


48  MEMORIALS    OF    TRAVELS   IK 


DELPHI. 

Beneath  the  vintage  moon's  uncertain  light, 

And  some  faint  stars  that  pierced  the  fihii  of  cloud, 

Stood  those  Parnassian  peaks  before  my  sight, 

Whose  fame  throughout  the  ancient  world  was  loud. 

Still  could  I  dimly  trace  the  terraced  lines 
Diverging  from  the  cliffs  on  either  side ; 

A  tlieatre  whose  steps  were  filled  with  shrines 
And  rich  devices  of  Hellenic  pride; 

Though  brightest  daylight  would  have  lit  in  vain 
The  place  whence  gods  and  worshippers  had  fied ; 

Only,  and  they  too  tenantless,  remain 

The  hallowed  chambers  of  the  pious  dead. 

Yet  those  wise  architects  an  ample  part 
To  Nature  gave  in  their  religious  shows, 

And  thus,  amid  the  sepultures  of  Art, 

Still  rise  the  Rocks  and  still  the  Fountain  flows. 


GREECE    AND    ITALY.  49 


Desolate  Delphi !  pure  Castalian  spring  ! 

Hear  me  avow  that  I  am  not  as  they — 
Who  deem  that  all  about  you  ministering 

Were  base  impostors,  and  mankind  their  prey  : 

That  the  high  names  they  seem.ed  to  love  and  laud 
Were  but  the  tools  their  paltry  trade  to  ply ; 

This  pomp  of  Faith  a  mere  gigantic  fraud, 
The  apparatus  of  a  mighty  lie  ! 

Let  those  that  will  believe  it ;  I,  for  one, 
Cannot  thus  read  the  history  of  my  kind ; 

Remembering  all  this  little  Greece  has  done 
To  raise  the  universal  human  mind  : 

I  know  that  hierarchs  of  that  wondrous  race. 
By  their  own  faith  alone,  could  keep  alive 

Mysterious  rites  and  sanctity  of  place, — 
Believing  in  whate'er  they  might  contrive. 

It  may  be,  that  these  influences,  combined 
"\\'ith  such  rare  nature  as  the  priestess  bore, 

Brought  to  the  surface  of  her  stormy  mind 
Distracted  fragments  of  prophetic  lore  : 

For,  howsoe'er  to  mortals'  probing  view 
Creation  is  revealed,  yet  must  we  pause, 

Weak  to  dissect  the  futile  from  the  true, 
Wliere'er  imagination  spreads  her  laws. 


VOL.    I. 

J 


50  MEMORIALS    OF    TRAVELS    IN 


So  now  that  dimmer  grows  the  watery  light, 
And  things  each  moment  more  fantastic  seem, 

I  fain  would  seek  if  still  the  Gods  have  might 
Over  the  undissembling  world  of  dream  : 

I  ask  not  that  for  me  aside  be  cast 

The  solemn  veil  that  hides  what  is  decreed ; 

I  crave  the  resurrection  of  the  past, 
That  I  may  know  what  Delphi  was  indeed  ! 

Oct.  %th,  1842. 


GREECE    AND    ITALY.  51 


THE   TOMB    OF    LAIUS. 

Where  Delphi's  consecrated  pass 

Boeotia's  misty  region  faces,* 
Rises  a  tomb-like  stony  mass 

Amid  the  bosky  mountain-bases ; 
It  seems  no  work  of  human  care, 

But  many  rocks  split  off  from  one  : 
Laius,  the  Thehan  king,  lies  there, — 

His  murderer  Oedipus,  his  son. 


No  pilgrim  to  the  Pythian  shrine 

But  marked  the  spot  with  decent  awe, 
In  presence  of  a  power  divine, 

O'erruling  human  will  and  law  : 
And  to  some  thoughtful  hearts  that  scene — 

Those  paths,  that  mound,  those  browsing  herds, 
Were  more  than  e'er  that  tale  had  been, 

Arrayed  in  Sophoclean  words. 

*  At  the  "  Schiste  Hodos,"  or  "  Triodos." 

K  2 


52  MEMORIALS    OF    TRAVELS   IN 

So  is  it  yet, — no  time  or  space 

That  ancient  anguish  can  assuage, 
For  sorrow  is  of  every  race, 

And  suffering  due  from  every  age ; 
That  awful  legend  falls  to  us 

With  all  the  weight  that  Greece  could  feel. 
And  every  man  is  CEdipus, 

Whose  wounds  no  mortal  skill  can  heal. 

Oh  !  call  it  Providence  or  fate, 

The  Sphynx  propounds  the  riddle  still, 
That  Man  must  bear  and  expiate 

Loads  of  involuntary  ill : 
So  shall  Endurance  ever  hold 

The  foremost  rank  'mid  human  needs, 
Not  without  faith,  that  God  can  mould 

To  good  the  dross  of  evil  deeds. 


GREECE    AND    ITALY.  53 


THE   FLOWERS    OF   HELICON.* 

The  solitudes  of  Helicon 

Are  rife  with  gay  and  scented  flowers, 
Shining  the  marble  rocks  upon. 

Or  'mid  the  valley's  oaken  bowers  ; 
And  ever  since  young  Fancy  placed 

The  Hieron  of  the  Muses  here, 
Have  ceaseless  generations  graced 

This  airy  Temple  year  by  year. 


But  those  more  bright,  more  precious,  flowers 

With  which  old  Greece  the  Muses  woo'd, 
The  Art  whose  varied  forms  and  powers 

Charmed  the  poetic  multitude. 
The  Thought  that  from  each  deep  recess 

And  fissure  of  the  teeming  mind 
Sent  up  its  odorous  fruitfulness — 

What  have  those  glories  left  behind  ? 


*  It  is  of  importance  to  remind  the  traveller  from  Delphi  to  Attica,  to  take 
the  mountain  road  from  Lebadea  over  the  plateau  of  Helicon,  and  not  the 
new  one  along  the  plain  :  the  latter  is  Uie  carriage-road  of  Greece,  but  has 
no  other  recommendation. 


I 

54  MEMORIALS    OF   TRAVELS   IN 

For  from  those  generous  calices 

The  vegetative  virtue  shed, 
Flew  over  distant  lands  and  seas, 

Waking  wide  nations  from  the  dead ; 
And  e'er  the  parent  plants  o'erthrown 

Gave  place  to  rank  and  noisome  weed, 
The  giant  Roman  world  was  sown 

Throughout  with  that  ennobling  seed. 


And  downward  thence  to  latest  days 

The  heritage  of  Beauty  fell, 
And  Grecian  forms  and  Grecian  lays 

Prolonged  their  humanising  spell, 
Till,  when  new  worlds  for  man  to  win 

The  Atlantic's  riven  waves  disclose, 
The  wildernesses  there  begin 

To  blossom  with  the  Grecian  rose. 


And  all  this  while  in  barren  shame 

Their  native  land  remote  reclines, 
A  mocked  and  miserable  name 

Round  which  some  withered  ivy  twines : 
Where,  wandering  'mid  the  broken  tombs, 

The  remnant  of  the  race  forget 
That  ever  with  such  royal  blooms 

This  Garden  of  the  Soul  was  set. 


GREECE    AND    ITALY.  55 

O  breezes  of  the  wealthy  West ! 

Why  bear  ye  not  on  grateful  wings 
The  seeds  of  all  your  life  has  blest 

Back  to  their  being's  early  springs  ? 
Why  fill  ye  not  these  plains  with  hopes 

To  bear  the  treasures  once  they  bore, 
And  to  these  Heliconian  slopes 

Transport  civility  and  lore  ? 

For  now,  at  least,  the  soil  is  free. 

Now  that  one  strong  reviving  breath 
Has  chased  that  Eastern  tyranny 

Which  to  the  Greek  was  ever  death  : 
Now  that,  though  weak  with  age  and  wrongs, 

And  bent  beneath  the  recent  chain 
This  motherland  of  Greece  belongs 

To  her  own  western  world  again. 


56  MEMORIALS    OF    TRAVELS   IN 


MODERN   ATHENS. 

If  Fate,  though  jealous  of  the  second  birth 
Of  names  in  history  raised  to  high  degree, 
Permits  that  Athens  yet  once  more  shall  be, 
Let  her  be  placed  as  suits  the  thought  and  worth 
Of  those,  who,  during  long  oppression's  dearth, 
\Vent  out  from  Hydra  and  Ipsara  free, 
Making  their  homestead  of  the  chainless  sea, 
And  hardly  touching  their  enslaved  earth. 
So  on  the  shore,  in  sight  of  Salamis, 
On  the  Pir?ean  and  Phalerian  bays, 
With  no  harsh  contrast  of  what  was  and  is, 
Let  Athens  rise ;  while  in  the  distance  stands, 
Like  something  hardly  raised  by  human  hands. 
The  awful  skeleton  of  ancient  days  ! 


GREECE    AND    ITALY.  57 


DELOS. 

Though  Syra's  rock  was  passed  at  morn, 
The  wind  so  faintly  arched  the  sail, 

That  ere  to  Delos  we  were  borne, 
The  autumn  day  began  to  fail, 

And  only  in  Diana's  smiles 

We  reached  the  bay  between  the  isles. 


In  sweet  serenity  of  force 

She  ruled  the  Heavens  without  a  star — 
A  sacred  image  that  the  course 

Of  time  and  thought  can  hardly  mar, — 
As  dear  and  nearly  as  divine 
As  ever  in  Ephesian  shrine. 


I  knew  that  on  the  spot  I  trod 
Her  glorious  twins  Latona  bore, 

That  for  her  sake  the  pitying  God 
Had  fixed  the  isle  afloat  before ; 

And,  fearful  of  his  just  disdain, 

I  almost  felt  it  move  again. 


58  MEMORIALS    OF    TRAVELS   IN 


For  the  delicious  light  that  threw 

Such  clear  transparence  on  the  wave, 

From  the  black  mastick-bushes  drew 
Column,  and  frieze,  and  architrave, 

Like  rocks,  which,  native  to  the  place, 

Had  something  of  mysterious  grace. 

"  Strong  was  the  power  of  Art  to  bid 
Arise  such  beauty  out  of  stone, 

Yet  Paros  might  as  well  have  hid 
Its  wealth  within  its  breast  unknown, 

As  for  brute  Nature  to  regain 

The  fragments  of  the  fallen  fane. 

"  Who  can  rebuild  these  colonnades 
Where  met  the  ancient  festal  host, 

The  peasant  from  Arcadia's  glades. 
The  merchant  from  Ionia's  coast. 

Gladdening  their  Grecian  blood  to  stand 

On  one  religious  Fatherland  ?  " 

So  in  my  angry  discontent 

I  cried,  but  calmer  thoughts  came  on, 
And  gratitude  with  sorrow  blent, 

And  murmur  turned  to  orison  : 
I  thanked  the  Gods  for  what  had  been, 
And  Nature  for  the  present  scene. 


GREECE    AND    ITALY.  59 


I  felt  that  while  in  Greece  remained 

Sicns  of  that  old  heroic  show, 
Hope,  Memory's  sister,  so  sustained, 

Would  sink  not  altogether  low. 
And  Grecian  hearts  once  more  might  be 
Combined  in  powerful  amity. 

.  .  .  Long  ere  the  sun's  most  curious  ray 
Had  touched  the  morning's  zone  of  pearl, 

I  and  my  boat  were  far  away. 

Raised  on  the  water's  freshening  curl ; 

And  barely  'twixt  the  rose  and  blue 

The  island's  rim  was  still  in  view. 

So  Delos  rests  upon  my  mind, 

A  perfect  Vision  of  the  night, 
A  picture  by  moon-rays  designed. 

And  shaded  into  black  and  bright, — 
A  true  Idea  borne  away, 
Untroubled  by  the  dreamless  day. 


6o  MEMORIALS    OF    TRAVELS   IN 


ITALY. 


Sempre  vivete,  o  cari  arti  divine, 
Conforto  a  nostra  sventurata  gente, 
Fra  r  itale  mine 
(;r  itali  pregi  a  celebrare  intente. 

G.  Leopard. 

AN    ITALIAN   TO    ITALY. 

1831. 

Along  the  coast  of  those  bright  seas, 
Where  sternly  fought  of  old 
The  Pisan  and  the  Genoese, 
Into  the  evening  gold 

A  ship  was  sailing  fast, 

Beside  whose  swaying  mast 
There  leant  a  youth ; — his  eye's  extended  scope 
Took  in  the  scene,  ere  all  the  twilight  fell ; 
And,  more  in  blessing  than  in  hope. 
He  murmured, — "  Fare-thee-well. 

"  Not  that  thou  gav'st  my  fathers  birth. 
And  not  that  thou  hast  been 
The  terror  of  the  ancient  earth 
And  Christendom's  sole  Queen  ; 


GREECE    AND    ITALY.  6i 

But  that  thou  wert  and  art 

The  beauty  of  my  heart : — 
Now  with  a  lover's  love  I  pray  to  thee, 
As  in  my  passionate  youth-time  erst  I  prayed ; 
Now,  with  a  lover's  agony, 
I  see  thy  features  fade. 

"  They  tell  me  thou  art  deeply  low ; 
They  brand  thee  weak  and  vile ; 
The  cruel  Northman  tells  me  so. 
And  pities  me  the  while  : 

What  can  he  know  of  thee. 

Glorified  Italy? 
Never  has  Nature  to  his  infant  mouth 
Eared  the  full  summer  of  her  living  breast ; 
Never  the  warm  and  mellow  South 
To  his  young  lips  was  prest. 

'*  I  know, — and  thought  has  often  striven 
The  justice  to  approve, — 
I  know  that  all  that  God  has  given 
Is  given  us  to  love  ; 

But  still  I  have  a  faith, 

Which  must  endure  till  death, 
That  Beauty  is  the  mother  of  all  Love  ; 
And  Patriot  Love  can  never  purely  glow 
^Vhere  frowns  the  veiled  heaven  above, 
And  the  niggard  earth  below. 


02  MEMORIALS    OF    TRAVELS   IN 

"  The  wealth  of  high  ancestral  name, 
And  silken  household  ties, 
And  battle-fields'  memorial  fame, 
He  earnestly  may  prize 

Who  loves  and  honours  not 

The  country  of  his  lot, 
With  undiscerning  piety, — the  same 
Filial  religion,  be  she  great  and  brave, 
Or  sunk  in  sloth  and  red  with  shame, 
A  monarch  or  a  slave. 


"  But  He  who  calls  this  heaven  his  own, 

The  very  lowliest  one, 

Is  conscious  of  a  holier  zone, 

And  nearer  to  the  sun  : 
Ever  it  bids  him  hail, 
Cloud-feathered  and  clear  pale, 

Or  one  vast  dome  of  deep  immaculate  blue, 

Or,  when  the  moon  is  on  her  mid-year  throne. 

With  richer  but  less  brilliant  hue. 

Built  up  of  turkis  stone. 

"  The  springing  corn  that  steeped  in  light 

Looks  emerald,  between 

The  delicate  olive-branches,  dight 

In  reverend  gray-green ; 

Each  flower  with  open  breast. 

To  the  gale  it  loves  the  best ; 


GREECE    AND    ITALY.  63 


The  bland  outbreathings  of  the  midland  sea, 
The  aloe-fringed  and  myrtle-shadowed  shore, 
Are  precious  things, — Oh,  wo  the  be 
Must  they  be  mine  no  more  ? 

"  And  shall  the  matin  bell  awake 

My  native  village  crowd, 

To  kneel  at  shrines,  whose  pomp  would  make 

A  Northern  city  proud  ? 

And  shall  the  festival 

Of  closing  Carnival 
Bid  the  gay  laughers  thro'  those  arches  pour. 
Whose  marble  mass  confronts  its  parent  hill, 
— And  /upon  a  far  bleak  shore  ! 
My  heart  will  see  them  still. 

"  For  though  in  poverty  and  fear, 
Thou  think'st  upon  the  morrow, 
Dutiful  Art  is  ever  near. 
To  wile  thee  from  all  sorrow; 

Thou  hast  a  power  of  melody, 

To  lull  all  sense  of  slavery  ; 
Thy  floral  crown  is  blowing  still  to  blow, 
Thy  eye  of  glory  ceases  not  to  shine, 
And  so  long  as  these  things  be  so, 
I  feel  thee,  bless  thee,  mine  !  " 


64  MEMORIALS    OF    TRAVELS    IN 


WRITTEN    IN   PETRARCH'S   HOUSE  AT 
ARQUA, 

AMONG   THE    EUGANEAN    HILLS. 

Petrarch  !  I  would  that  there  might  be 
In  this  thy  household  sanctuary 
No  visible  monument  of  thee  : 

The  Fount  that  whilom  played  before  thee, 
The  Roof  that  rose  in  shelter  o'er  thee, 
The  low  fair  Hills  that  still  adore  thee, — 

I  would  no  more  ;  thy  memory 
Must  loathe  all  cold  reality, 
Thought-worship  only  is  for  thee. 

They  say  thy  Tomb  lies  there  below ; 
What  want  I  with  the  marble  show  ? 
I  am  content, — I  will  not  go : 

For  though  by  Poesy's  high  grace 
Thou  saw'st,  in  thy  calm  resting-place, 
God,  Love,  and  Nature  face  to  face ; 

Yet  now  that  thou  art  wholly  free, 
How  can  it  give  delight  to  see 
That  sign  of  thy  captivity  ? 


GREECE    AND    ITALY.  65 


FEELINGS    EXCITED    BY   SOME   MILITARY 
MANCEUVRES    AT    VERONA. 

What  is  the  lesson  I  have  brought  away, 
After  the  moment's  palpitating  glee  ? 
What  has  this  pomp  of  men,  this  strong  array 
Of  thousands  and  ten  thousands  been  to  me  ? 
Did  I  find  nothing  but  the  vision  gay, 
The  mere  phenomenon  that  all  could  see  ? 
Did  I  feel  nothing  but  the  brute  display 
Of  Power, — the  show  of  centred  energy? 
Trembling  and  humbled,  I  was  taught  how  hard 
It  is  for  our  strait  minds  at  once  to  scan 
The  might  of  banded  numbers,  and  regard 
The  individual  soul,  the  living  Man ; 
•  To  use  mechanic  multitudes,  and  yet 
Our  common  human  feelings  not  f:)rget ! 


VOL.    I. 


66  MEMORIALS    OF    TRAVELS   IN 


MEDITATIVE   FRAGMENTS,    ON   VENICE. 


"  The  niler  of  the  Adriatic,  who  never  was  infant  nor  stripling,  whom 
God  took  by  the  right  hand  and  taught  to  walk  by  himself  the  first  houi."— 
Landor. 

Walk  in  St.  Mark's,  the  time,  the  ample  space 
Lies  in  the  freshness  of  the  evening  shade, 
When,  on  each  side,  with  gravely  darkened  face, 
The  masses  rise  above  the  light  arcade  ; 
Walk  down  the  midst  with  slowly-tunbd  pace, 
But  gay  withal, — for  there  is  high  parade 
Of  fair  attire  and  fairer  forms,  which  pass 
Like  varying  groups  on  a  magician's  glass. 


From  broad-illumined  chambers  far  within. 
Or  under  curtains  daintily  outspread. 
Music,  and  laugh,  and  talk,  the  motley  din 
Of  all  who  from  sad  thought  or  toil  are  sped, 
Here  a  chance  hour  of  social  joy  to  win, 
Gush  forth, —  but  /  love  best,  above  my  head 
To  feel  nor  arch  nor  tent,  nor  anything 
But  that  pure  Heaven's  eternal  covering. 


GREECE    AND    ITALY.  67 

It  is  one  broad  Saloon,  one  gorgeous  Hall ; 
A  chamber,  where  a  multitude,  all  Kings, 
May  hold  full  audience,  splendid  festival, 
Or  Piety's  most  pompous  ministerings  ; 
Thus  be  its  height  unmarred, — thus  be  it  all 
One  mighty  room,  whose  form  direct  upsprings 
To  the  o'er-arching  sky  ; — it  is  right  good, 
When  Art  and  Nature  keep  such  brotherhood. 


For  where,  upon  the  firmest  sodden  land. 

Has  ever  IMonarch's  power  and  toil  of  slaves 

Equalled  the  works  of  that  self-governed  band, 

Who  fixed  the  Delos  of  the  Adrian  waves  ; 

Planting  upon  these  strips  of  yielding  sand 

A  Temple  of  the  Beautiful,  which  braves 

The  jealous  strokes  of  ocean,  nor  yet  fears 

The  far  more  perilous  sea,  "  whose  waves  are  years?" 


Walk  in  St.  Mark's  again,  some  few  hours  after, 
When  a  bright  sleep  is  on  each  storied  pile, — 
When  fitful  music,  and  inconstant  laughter, 
Give  place  to  Nature's  silent  moonlight  smile  : 
Now  Fancy  wants  no  faery  gale  to  waft  her 
To  Magian  haunt,  or  charm-engirded  isle, 
All  too  content,  in  passive  bliss,  to  see 
This  show  divine  of  visible  Poetry  : — 

K  2 


68  MEMORIALS    OF    TRAVELS   IN 

On  such  a  night  as  this  impassionedly 

The  old  Venetian  sung  those  verses  rare, 

"  That  Venice  must  of  needs  eternal  be, 

For  Heaven  had  looked  through  the  pellucid  air, 

And  cast  its  reflex  in  the  crystal  sea, 

And  Venice  was  the  image  pictured  there  *  ; " 

I  hear  them  now,  and  tremble,  for  I  seem 

As  treading  on  an  unsubstantial  dream. 

Who  talks  of  vanished  glory,  of  dead  power, 
Of  things  that  were,  and  are  not  ?     Is  he  here  ? 
Can  he  take  in  the  glory  of  this  hour, 
And  call  it  all  the  decking  of  a  bier? 
No,  surely  as  on  that  Titanic  tower  f 
The  Guardian  Angel  stands  in  aether  clear. 
With  the  moon's  silver  tempering  his  gold  v/ing, 
So  Venice  lives,  as  lives  no  other  thing  :— 

That  strange  Cathedral !  exquisitely  strange, — 
That  front,  on  whose  bright  varied  tints  the  eye 
Rests  as  of  gems, — those  arches,  whose  high  range 
Gives  its  rich-broidered  border  to  the  sky, — 
Those  ever-prancing  steeds ! — My  friend,  whom  change 
Of  restless  will  has  led  to  lands  that  lie 
Deep  in  the  East,  does  not  thy  fancy  set 
Above  those  domes  an  airy  minaret  ? 

•  "  Ich  hiirte  einen  blinden  Siini;cr  in  Chioggia,  der  sang,  Venedig  sey 
cine  ewige  Stadt  ;  dcr  Himmel  hiitte  sich  im  Meer  gespiegelt  und  seiu 
Widerschein  wiire  Vencdig."— I'LATliN. 

t  The  Campanile. 


GREECE    AND    ITALY.  69 

Dost  thou  not  feel,  that  in  this  scene  are  blent 
Wide  distances  of  the  estranged  earth, 
Far  thoughts,  far  faiths,  beseeming  her  who  bent 
The  spacious  Orient  to  her  simple  worth, 
Who,  in  her  own  young  freedom  eminent, 
Scorning  the  slaves  that  shamed  their  ancient  birth, 
And  feeling  what  the  West  could  be,  had  been. 
Went  out  a  Traveller,  and  returned  a  Queen  ? 


II. 

The  Golden  Book  * 
Is  now  unwritten  in,  and  stands  unmoved, 
Save  when  the  curious  traveller  takes  down 
A  random  volume,  from  the  dusty  shelf. 
To  trace  the  progress  of  a  bruited  name  ; 

The  Bucentaur 
Is  shattered,  and  of  its  resplendent  form 
There  is  no  remnant,  but  some  splintered  morsel, 
Which  in  his  cabin,  as  a  talisman, 
.Mournfully  hangs  the  pious  Gondolier  ; 

The  Adrian  sea 
Will  never  have  a  Doge  to  marry  more, — 
The  meagre  favours  of  a  foreign  lord 
Can  hardly  lead  some  score  of  humble  craft 

♦  The  Libro  d'Oro,  the  Venetian  "Peerage." 


70  MEMORIALS    OF  TRAVELS    IN 

With  vilest  merchandize  into  the  port, 
That  whilom  held  the  wealth  of  half  a  world. 

Thy  Palaces 
Are  bartered  to  the  careful  Israelite, — 
Or  left  to  perish,  stone  by  stone,  worn  down 
In  desolation, — solemn  skeletons, 
Whose  nakedness  some  tufts  of  pitying  grass, 
Or  green  boughs  trembling  o'er  the  trembling  wall, 
Adorn  but  hide  not. 

And  are  these  things  true, 
Miraculous  Venice  ?     Is  the  charm  then  past 
Away  from  thee  ?     Is  all  thy  work  fulfilled. 
Of  power  and  beauty  ?     Art  thou  gathered 
To  the  dead  cities  ?     Is  thy  ministry 
Made  up,  and  folded  in  the  hand  of  Thought? 
Ask  him  who  knows  the  meaning  and  the  truth 
Of  all  existence  ; — ask  the  Poet's  heart : 
Thy  Book  has  no  dead  tome  for  him, — for  him 
Within  St.  Mark's  emblazoned  porticoes, 
Thy  old  Nobility  are  walking  still ; — 
The  lowliest  Gondola  upon  thy  waters 
Is  worth  to  him  thy  decorated  Galley  ; 
He  never  looks  upon  the  Adrian  sea 
But  as  thy  lawful  tho'  too  faithless  Spouse ; 
And  when,  in  the  sad  lustre  of  the  moon. 
Thy  Palaces  seem  beautifully  wan, 
He  blesses  God  that  there  is  left  on  earth 
So  marvellous,  so  full  an  antidote, 


GREECE    AND    ITALY.  71 


For  all  the  racks  and  toils  of  mortal  life, 
As  thy  sweet  countenance  to  gaze  upon. 


III. 

LIDO. 

I  WENT  to  greet  the  full  May-moon 
On  that  long  narrow  shoal 
Which  lies  between  the  still  Lagoon 
And  the  open  Ocean's  roll. 

How  pleasant  was  that  grassy  shore, 
When  one  for  months  had  been 
Shut  up  in  streets,— to  feel  once  more 
One's  foot-fall  on  the  green  ! 

There  are  thick  trees  too  in  that  place  ; 
But  straight  from  sea  to  sea, 
Over  a  rough  uncultured  space, 
The  path  goes  drearily. 

I  passed  along,  with  many  a  bound, 
To  hail  the  fresh  free  wave  ; 
But,  pausing,  wonderingly  found 
I  was  treading  on  a  grave. 


72  MEMORIALS    OF    TRAVELS  IN 

Then,  at  one  careless  look,  I  saw 
That,  for  some  distance  round, 
Tomb-stones,  without  design  or  law, 
'Were  scattered  on  the  ground  : 

Of  pirates  or  of  mariners 
I  deemed  that  these  might  be 
The  fitly-chosen  sepulchres, 
Encircled  by  the  sea. 

But  there  were  words  inscribed  on  all, 
I'  the  tongue  of  a  far  land, 
And  marks  of  things  symbolical, 
I  could  not  understand. 

They  are  the  graves  of  that  sad  race. 
Who,  from  their  Syrian  home, 
For  ages,  without  resting-place. 
Are  doomed  in  woe  to  roam  ; 

Who,  in  the  days  of  sternest  faith, 
Glutted  the  sword  and  flame, 
As  if  a  taint  of  moral  death 
'\\^ere  in  their  very  name  : 

And  even  under  laws  most  mild, 
All  shame  was  deemed  their  due, 
And  the  nurse  told  the  Christian  child 
To  shun  the  cursed  Jew. 


GREECE    AND    ITALY.  73 

Thus  all  their  gold's  insidious  grace 
Availed  not  here  to  gain 
For  their  last  sleep,  a  seemlier  place 
Than  this  bleak-featured  plain. 

Apart,  severely  separate, 
On  the  verge  of  the  outer  sea, 
Their  home  of  Death  is  desolate 
As  their  Life's  home  could  be. 

The  common  sand-path  had  defaced 
And  pressed  down  many  a  stone ; 
Others  can  be  but  faintly  traced 
I'  the  rank  grass  o'er  them  grown. 

I  thought  of  Shylock, — the  fierce  heart 
Whose  wrongs  and  injuries  old 
Temper,  in  Shakspeare's  world  of  Art, 
His  lusts  of  blood  and  gold  ; 

Perchance  that  form  of  broken  pride 
Here  at  my  feet  once  lay, — 
But  lay  alone, — for  at  his  side 
There  was  no  Jessica  1 

Fondly  I  love  each  island-shore, 
Embraced  by  Adrian  waves ; 
But  none  has  Memory  cherislied  more 
Than  Lido  and  its  a:raves. 


74  MEMORIALS    OF    TRAVELS   IN 


IV. 

Oh  Poverty  !  thou  bitter-hearted  fiend  ! 

How  darest  thou  approach  the  Beautiful  ? 

How  darest  thou  give  up  these  Palaces, 

Where  delicate  Art  in  wood  and  marble  wove 

Its  noblest  fancies,  with  laborious  skill, 

To  the  base  uses  of  the  artizan  ? 

How  darest  thou  defile  with  coarsest  stores, 

And  vermin's  loathsome  nests,  the  aged  walls, 

Whence  Titian's  women  burningly  looked  down 

On  the  rich-vested  pomp  that  shone  below  ? 

Is  nothing  sacred  for  thy  hand,  no  names. 

No  memories, — thou  bold  Iniquity  ! 

Shall  men,  on  whose  fine  brows  we  recognize 

The  lines  of  some  great  ducal  efiigies. 

Which  frown  along  St.  John's  cathedral  aisles,* 

With  hearts  as  high  as  any  of  their  fathers, 

Sink  silent  under  thy  slow  martyrdom. 

Leaving  their  children,  Liberty's  just  heirs, 

Children  like  those  that  Gianbellini  painted,t 

To  batten  on  the  miserable  alms, 

The  sordid  fragments  of  their  country's  wealth, 

Doled  out  by  servants  of  a  stranger  king  ? 

*  The  Venetian  Pantheon  of  S.  Giovanni  e  Paolo, 
t  e.g.   In  the  refectories  of  the  Redentor.;  and  Frarl. 


GREECE    AND    ITALY.  75 


Is  there  no  engine  of  compassionate  Death, 

Which  with  a  rapid  mercy  will  relieve 

This  ancient  city  of  its  shamed  being? 

Is  War  so  weary  that  he  cannot  strike 

One  iron  blow,  that  she  may  fold  her  robe 

About  her  head,  and  fall  imperially  ? 

Is  there  no  eager  earthquake  far  below, 

To  shiver  her  frail  limbs,  and  hurl  her  down 

Into  the  bosom  of  her  mated  sea  ? 

Or  must  she,  for  a  lapse  of  wretched  years, 

Armless  and  heartless,  tremble  on  as  now, 

Like  one  who  hears  the  tramp  of  murderous  foes, 

Unseen,  and  feels  them  nearer,  nearer  still ; — 

Till  round  her  Famine's  pestilential  breath, 

Fatally  closing,  to  the  gloom  of  Time, 

She  shall,  in  quivering  agony,  give  up 

The  spirit  of  that  light,  which  burnt  so  long, 

A  stedfast  glory,  an  unfailing  fire  ? 

Thus  ran  the  darkling  current  of  my  thoughts, 

As  one  sad  night,  from  the  Rialto's  edge, 

I  looked  into  the  waters, — on  whose  face 

Glimmered  the  reflex  of  some  few  faint  stars. 

And  two  far-flitting  lamps  of  gondoliers. 

That  seemed  on  that  black  flat  to  move  alone. 

While,  on  each  side,  each  well-known  building  lost 

Its  separate  beauty  in  one  dark  long  curve. 


76  MEMORIALS    OF    TRAVELS   IN 


V. 

City,  whose  name  did  once  adorn  the  world, 

Thou  might'st  have  been  all  that  thou  ever  wert, 

In  form  and  feature  and  material  strength, 

Up  from  the  sea,  which  is  thy  pedestal, 

Unto  thy  Campanile's  golden  top, 

And  yet  have  never  won  the  precious  crown, 

To  be  the  loved  of  human  hearts,  to  be 

The  wise  man's  treasure  now  and  evermore. — 

Th'  ingenious  boldness,  the  creative  will, 

Which  from  some  weak  uncertain  plots  of  sand, 

Cast  up  among  the  waters,  could  erect 

Foundations  firm  as  on  the  central  ground, — 

''J'he  art  which  changed  thy  huts  to  palaces, 

And  bade  the  God  of  Ocean's  temples  rise 

Conspicuous  far  above  the  crystal  plain, — 

The  ever-active  nerve  of  Industry, 

That  bound  the  Orient  to  the  Occident 

In  fruitful  commerce,  till  thy  lap  was  filled 

With  wealth,  the  while  thy  head  was  girt  with  power; 

Each  have  their  separate  palm  from  wondering  men, 

But  the  sage  thinker's  passion  must  have  source 

In  sympathy  entire  with  that  rare  spirit 

WJiich  did  possess  thee,  as  thy  very  life, — 

That  power  of  union  and  self-sacrifice, 


GREECE    AND    ITALY.  77 

Which  from  the  proud  republics  of  old  time 

Devolved  upon  thee,  by  a  perfect  faith 

Strung  to  a  tenfold  deeper  energy. 

^\'ithin  thy  people's  mind  immutable 

Two  notions  held  associate  monarchy, 

Religion  and  the  State, — to  which  alone, 

In  their  full  freedom,  they  declared  themselves 

Subject,  and  deemed  this  willing  servitude 

Their  dearest  privilege  of  liberty. 

Thus  at  the  call  of  either  sacred  cause, 

All  wealth,  all  feelings,  all  peculiar  rights, 

Were  made  one  universal  holocaust, 

Without  a  thought  of  pain, — thus  all  thy  sons 

Bore  thee  a  love,  not  vague  and  hard  defined, 

But  close  and  personal,  a  love  no  force 

Could  take  away,  no  coldness  could  assuage. 

Thus  when  the  noble  body  of  Italy, 

Which  God  has  bound  in  one  by  Alps  and  sea, 

Was  struggling  with  torn  heart  and  splintered  limbs, 

So  that  the  very  marrow  of  her  strength 

Mixed  with  the  lavished  gore  and  oozed  away, — 

Town  banded  against  town,  street  against  street. 

House  against  house,  and  father  against  son, 

The  servile  victims  of  unmeaning  feuds, — 

Thou  didst  sustain  the  wholeness  of  thy  power, — 

Thy  altar  was  as  a  domestic  hearth, 

Round  which  thy  children  sat  in  brotherhood ; — 

Never  was  name  of  Guelf  or  Ghibelline 


78  MEMORIALS    OF    TRAVELS   IN 

Writ  on  thy  front  in  letters  of  bright  blood  \ 

Never  the  stranger,  for  his  own  base  ends, 

Flattered  thy  passions,  or  by  proffered  gold 

Seduced  the  meanest  of  thy  citizens. — 

Thus  too  the  very  sufferers  of  thy  wrath, 

Whom  the  unsparing  prudence  of  the  state, 

For  erring  judgment,  insufficient  zeal, 

Or  heavier  fault,  had  banished  from  its  breast. 

Even  they,  when  came  on  thee  thy  hour  of  need, 

Fell  at  thy  feet  and  prayed,  with  humble  tears, 

That  thou  wouldst  deign  at  least  to  use  their  wealth. 

Though  thou  didst  scorn  the  gift  of  their  poor  lives.* 

****** 

Prime  model  of  a  Christian  commonwealth  ! 
Thou  wise  simplicity,  which  present  men 
Calumniate,  not  conceiving, — joy  is  mine. 
That  I  have  read  and  learnt  thee  as  I  ought, 
Not  in  the  crude  compiler's  painted  shell. 
But  in  thine  own  memorials  of  live  stone. 
And  in  the  pictures  of  thy  kneeling  princes, 
And  in  the  lofty  words  on  lofty  tombs, 
And  in  the  breath  of  ancient  chroniclers. 
And  in  the  music  of  the  outer  sea. 


*  As  in  the  instance  of  Antonio  Grimani,  who  was  living  in  exile  at  Rome 
at  the  time  of  the  league  of  Cambray.  He  had  been  condemned  for  some 
error  in  fighting  against  the  Turks.  When  Venice  was  in  distress,  he  offered 
all  his  private  fortune  to  the  state.  After  her  victory  he  was  not  only  recalled, 
but  elected  Doge  some  years  later. 


GREECE   AND    ITALY.  79 


THE    VENETIAN    SERENADE. 

When  along  the  light  ripple  the  far  serenade 
Has  accosted  the  ear  of  each  passionate  maid, 
She  may  open  the  window  that  looks  on  the  stream, — 
She  may  smile  on  her  pillow  and  blend  it  in  dream  ; 
Half  in  words,  half  in  music,  it  pierces  the  gloom, 
"  I  am  coming — Stall— but  you  know  not  for  whom! 

Stall — not  for  whom  ! " 


Now  the  tones  become  clearer, — you  hear  more  and 

more 
How  the  water  divided  returns  on  the  oar, — 
Does  the  prow  of  the  gondola  strike  on  the  stair  ? 
Do  the  voices  and  instruments  pause  and  prepare  ? 
Oh  !  they  faint  on  the  ear  as  the  lamp  on  the  view, 
"  I  am  passing — Premi — but  I  stay  not  for  you  ! 

Premi — not  for  you  !  " 


Then  return  to  your  couch,  you  who  stifle  a  tear, 
Then  awake  not,  fair  sleeper— believe  he  is  here; 


8o  MEMORIALS    OF    TRAVELS   IN 

For  the  young  and  the  loving  no  sorrow  endures, 
If  to-day  be  another's,  to-morrow  is  yours ; — 
May,  the  next  time  you  Usten,  your  fancy  be  true, 
"  I  am  coming — Sciar — and  for  you  and  to  you  ! 

Sciar — and  to  you  ! " 


The  Venetian  words  here  used  are  the  calls  of  the  gondoliers,  indicating 
the  direction  in  which  they  are  rowing.     Sciare  is  to  stop  the  boat. 


FROM    GOTHE. 

Let  me  this  gondola  boat  compare  to  the  slumberous 
cradle, 
And  to  a  spacious  bier  liken  the  cover  demure ; 
Thus  on  the  Great  Canal  through  life  we  are  swaying 
and  swimming 
Onward  with  never  a  care,  coffin  and   cradle  be- 
tween. 


GREECE    AND    ITALY.  8i 


A    DREAM   IN    A    GONDOLA. 

I  HAD  a  dream  of  waters  :  I  was  borne 

Fast  down  the  slimy  tide 

Of  eldest  Nile,  and  endless  flats  forlorn 

Stretched  out  on  either  side, — 

Save  where  from  time  to  time  arose 

Red  Pyramids,  like  flames  in  forced  repose, 

And  Sphynxes  gazed,  vast  countenances  bland, 

Athwart  that  river-sea  and  sea  of  sand. 

It  is  the  nature  of  the  Life  of  Dream, 

To  make  all  action  of  our  mental  springs, 

Howe'er  unnatural,  discrepant,  and  strange, 

Be  as  the  unfolding  of  most  usual  things  ; 

And  thus  to  me  no  wonder  did  there  seem, 

When,  by  a  subtle  change, 

The  heavy  ample  byblus-winged  boat, 

In  which  I  lay  afloat, 

Became  a  deft  canoe,  light-wove 

Of  painted  bark,  gay-set  with  lustrous  shells, 

Faintingly  rocked  within  a  lonesome  cove, 

Of  some  rich  island  where  the  Indian  dwells  ; 

Below,  the  water's  pure  white  light 

Took  colour  from  reflected  blooms, 

VOL.    I.  G 


82  MEMORIALS    OF    TRAVELS   IN 


And,  through  the  forest's  deepening  glooms, 

Birds  of  illuminated  plumes 

Came  out  like  stars  in  summer  night : 

And  close  beside,  all  fearless  and  serene, 

"Within  a  niche  of  drooping  green, 

A  girl,  with  limbs  fine-rounded  and  clear-brown. 

And  hair  thick-waving  down, 

Advancing  one  small  foot,  in  beauty  stood, 

Trying  the  temper  of  the  lambent  flood. 

But  on  my  spirit  in  that  spiced  air 

Embalmed,  and  in  luxurious  senses  drowned, 

Another  change  of  sweet  and  fair 

There  passed,  and  of  the  scene  around 

Nothing  remained  the  same  in  sight  or  sound  : 

For  now  the  Wanderer  of  my  dream 

Was  gliding  down  a  fable-stream 

Of  long-dead  Hellas,  with  much  treasure 

Of  inworking  thoughtful  pleasure  ; 

While  the  silver  line  meanders 

Through  the  tall  pink  oleanders. 

Through  the  wood  of  tufted  rushes, 

Through  the  arbute's  ruby-bushes. 

Voices  of  a  happy  hymn 

Every  moment  grow  less  dim, 

Till  at  last  the  slim  caique 

(Hollowed  from  a  single  stem 

Of  a  hill-brow's  diadem) 


GREECE    AND    ITALY.  83 

Rests  in  a  deep-dented  creek 

Myrtle-ambushed, — and  above 

Songs,  the  very  breath  of  Love, 

Stream  from  Temples  reverend-old, 

Porticoes  of  Doric  mould, 

Snow-white  islands  of  devotion, 

Planted  in  the  rose  and  gold 

Of  the  evening's  aether-ocean  ; — 

O  joyant  Earth  !  beloved  Grecian  sky  ! 

O  favoured  Wanderer — honoured  dreamer  I  ! 

Yet  not  less  favoured  when  awake, — for  now. 

Across  my  torpid  brow 

Swept  a  cool  current  of  the  young  night's  air, 

With  a  sharp  kiss,  and  there 

Was  I  all  clear  awake, — drawn  soft  along 

There  in  my  own  dear  Gondola,  among 

The  bright-eyed  Venice  isles, 

Lit  up  in  constant  smiles. — 

"Wliat  had  my  thoughts  and  heart  to  do 

With  wild  Egyptain  bark,  or  frail  canoe, 

Or  mythic  skiff  out  of  Saturniaa  days, 

Wlien  I  was  there,  with  that  rare  scene  to  praise, 

That  Gondola  to  rest  in  and  enjoy, 

That  actual  bliss  to  taste  without  alloy  ? 

Cradler  of  placid  pleasures,  deep  delights, 
Bosomer  of  the  Poet's  wearied  mind, 

G  2 


84  MEMORIALS    OF    TRAVELS   IN 


Tempter  from  vulgar  passions,  scorns  and  spites, 

Enfolder  of  all  feelings  that  be  kind  ! 

Before  our  souls  thy  quiet  motions  spread, 

In  one  great  calm,  one  undivided  plain, 

Immediate  joy,  blest  memories  of  the  dead. 

And  iris-tinted  forms  of  hope's  domain, 

Child  of  the  still  Lagoons  ! 

Open  to  every  show 

Of  summer  sunsets  and  autumnal  moons, 

Such  as  no  other  space  of  world  can  know, — 

Dear  Boat,  that  makest  dear 

Whatever  thou  com'st  near, — 

In  thy  repose  still  let  me  gently  roam. 

Still  on  thy  couch  of  beauty  find  a  home ; 

Still  let  me  share  thy  comfortable  peace 

With  all  I  have  of  dearest  upon  Earth, 

Friend,  mistress,  sister ;  and  when  death's  release 

Shall  call  my  spirit  to  another  birth. 

Would  that  1  might  thus  lightly  lapse  away. 

Alone, — by  moonlight, — in  a  Gondola. 


GREECE    AND    ITALY.  85 


ON    THE    MAD-HOUSE   AT    VENICE. 


"  I  looked  and  saw  between  us  and  the  sun 
A  building  on  an  island,  such  an  one 
As  age  to  age  might  add,  for  uses  vile, 
A  windowless,  deformed,  and  dreary  pile  ; 
And  on  the  top  an  open  tower,  where  hung 
A  bell,  which  in  the  radiance  swayed  and  swung, - 
We  could  jubt  hear  its  hoarse  and  iron  tongue  ; 
The  broad  sun  sank  behind  it,  and  it  tolled 
In  strong  and  black  relief.     '  What  we  behold 
Shall  be  the  Madhouse  and  its  belfry  tower,' 
Said  Maddalo."  Shellky. 


Honour  aright  the  philosophic  thought, 
That  they  who,  by  the  trouble  of  the  brain 
Or  heart,  for  usual  life  are  overwrought. 
Hither  should  come  to  discipline  their  pain. 
A  single  convent  on  a  shoaly  plain 
Of  waters  never  changing  their  dull  face 
But  by  the  sparkles  of  thick-falling  rain 
Or  lines  of  puny  waves, — such  is  the  place. 
Strong  medicine  enters  by  the  ear  and  eye  ; 
That  low  unaltering  dash  against  the  wall 
May  lull  the  angriest  dream  to  vacancy ; 
And  Melancholy,  finding  nothing  strange. 
For  her  poor  self  to  jar  upon  at  all, 
Frees  her  sad-centred  thoughts,  and  gives  them  plea- 
sant range. 


86  MEMORIALS    OF    TRAVELS   IN 


TO . 

WRITTEN  AT  VENICE. 

Not  only  through  the  golden  haze 
Of  indistinct  surprise, 
With  which  the  Ocean-bride  displa}-£ 
Her  pomp  to  stranger  eyes  ; — 
Not  with  the  fancy's  flashing  play, 
The  traveller's  vulgar  theme, 
Where  following  objects  chase  away 
The  moment's  dazzling  dream ; — 


Not  thus  art  thou  content  to  see 
The  City  of  my  love, — 
Whose  beauty  is  a  thought  to  me 
All  mortal  thoughts  above ; 
And  pass  in  dull  unseemly  haste, 
Nor  sight  nor  spirit  clear, 
As  if  the  first  bewildering  taste 
Were  all  the  banquet  here  ! 


GREECE    AND    ITALY.  87 

When  the  proud  Sea,  for  Venice'  sake, 

Itself  consents  to  wear 

The  semblance  of  a  land-locked  lake, 

Inviolably  fair ; 

And  in  the  dalliance  of  her  Isles, 

Has  levelled  his  strong  waves, 

Adoring  her  with  tenderer  wiles, 

Than  his  own  pearly  caves, — 


Surely  may  we  to  similar  calm 

Our  noisy  lives  subdue, 

And  bare  our  bosoms  to  such  balm 

As  God  has  given  to  few ; 

Surely  may  we  delight  to  pause 

On  our  care-goaded  road, 

Refuged  from  Time's  most  bitter  laws 

In  this  august  abode. 


Thoit  knowest  this, — thou  lingerest  here, 

Rejoicing  to  remain  ; 

The  plashing  oars  fall  on  thy  ear 

Like  a  familiar  strain  ; 

No  wheel  prolongs  its  weary  roll, 

The  Earth  itself  goes  round 

Slower  than  elsewhere,  and  thy  soul 

Dreams  in  the  void  of  sound. 


88  MEMORIALS    OF    TRAVELS   lA^ 


Thy  heart,  by  Nature's  discipline, 
From  all  disdain  refined. 
Kept  open  to  be  written  in 
By  good  of  every  kind, 
Can  harmonise  its  inmost  sense 
To  every  outward  tone, 
And  bring  to  all  experience 
High  reasoning  of  its  own. 


So,  when  these  forms  come  freely  out, 

And  wonder  is  gone  by, 

With  patient  skill  it  sets  about 

Its  subtle  work  of  joy ; 

Connecting  all  it  comprehends 

By  lofty  moods  of  love, — 

The  earthly  Present's  farthest  ends, — 

The  Past's  deep  Heaven  above. 


O  bliss  !  to  watch,  with  half-shut  lid, 

By  many  a  secret  place, 

Where  darkling  loveliness  is  hid, 

And  undistinguished  grace, 

To  mark  the  gloom,  by  slow  degrees, 

Exfoliate,  till  the  whole 

Shines  forth  before  our  sympathies, 

A  soul  that  meets  a  soul ! 


GREECE    AND    ITALY.  89 


Come  out  upon  the  broad  Lagoon, 
Come  for  the  hundredth  time, — 
Our  thoughts  shall  make  a  pleasant  tune, 
Our  words  a  worthy  rhyme  ; 
And  thickly  round  us  we  will  set 
Such  visions  as  were  seen. 
By  Tizian  and  by  Tintorett, 
And  dear  old  Giambellin, — 


And  all  their  peers  in  art,  whose  eyes, 

Taught  by  this  sun  and  sea. 

Flashed  on  their  works  those  burning  dyes. 

That  fervent  poetry ; 

And  wove  the  shades  so  thinly-clear 

They  would  be  parts  of  light 

In  northern  climes,  where  frowns  severe 

Mar  half  the  charms  of  sight. — 


Did  ever  shape  that  Paolo  drew 

Put  on  such  brilliant  tire, 

As  Nature,  in  this  evening  view,- 

This  world  of  tinted  fire  ? 

The  glory  into  whose  embrace, 

The  virgin  pants  to  rise, 

Is  but  reflected  from  the  face 

Of  these  Venetian  skies. 


90  MEMORIALS    OF    TRAVELS   IN 

The  sun,  beneath  the  horizon's  brow 
Has  sunk,  not  passed  away ; 
His  presence  is  far  lordlier  now 
Than  on  the  throne  of  day  ; 
His  spirit  of  splendour  has  gone  forth, 
Sloping  wide  violet  rays. 
Possessing  air  and  sea  and  earth 
With  his  essential  blaze.* 


Transpierced,  transfused,  each  densest  mass 

Melts  to  as  pure  a  glow, 

As  images  on  painted  glass 

Or  silken  screens  can  show. 

Gaze  on  the  city, — contemplate 

With  that  fine  sense  of  thine 

The  Palace  of  the  ancient  state, — 

That  wildly-grand  design  ! 

How  'mid  the  universal  sheen 
Of  marble  amber-tinged, 
Like  some  enormous  baldaquin 
Gay-chequered  and  deep-fringed, 


*  The  perfect  transparency  and  rich  colour  of  all  objects,  and  their  reflec- 
tions, in  southern  countries,  for  some  short  tnne  after  sunset,  has  an  almost 
miraculous  effect  to  a  northern  eye.  Whenever  it  has  been  imitated  in  art, 
it  has  been  generally  pronounced  unnatural  or  exaggerated.  I  do  not  re- 
member to  have  ever  seen  the  phenomenon  so  astonishingly  beautiful  as  a 
Venice,  at  least  in  Italy. 


GREECE    AND    ITALY.  91 

It  Stands  in  air  and  will  not  move, 
Upheld  by  magic  power, — 
The  dun-lead  Domes  just  caught  above — 
Beside, — the  glooming  Tower. 

Now  a  more  distant  beauty  fills 
Thy  scope  of  ear  and  eye, — 
That  gracefial  cluster  of  low  hills, 
Bounding  the  western  sky, 
Which  the  ripe  evening  flushes  cover 
With  purplest  fruitage-bloom, — 
Methinks  that  gold-lipt  cloud  may  hover 
Just  over  Petrarch's  tomb  ! 

Petrarch  !  when  we  that  name  repeat, 

Its  music  seems  to  fall 

Like  distant  bells,  soft-voiced  and  sweet, 

But  sorrowful  withal ; — 

That  broken  heart  of  love  ! — that  life 

Of  tenderness  and  tears  ! 

So  weak  on  earth, — in  earthly  strife, — 

So  strong  in  holier  spheres  ! 

How  in  his  most  of  godlike  pride. 
While  emulous  nations  ran 
To  kiss  his  feet,  he  stept  aside 
And  wept  the  woes  of  man  ! 


92  MEMORIALS    OF    TRAVELS    IN 

How  in  his  genius-woven  bower 

Of  passion  ever  green, 

The  world's  black  veil  fell,  hour  by  hour, 

Him  and  his  rest  between. 

Welcome  such  thoughts; — they  well  atone 

With  this  more  serious  mood 

Of  visible  things  that  night  brings  on, 

In  her  cool  shade  to  brood  ; 

The  moon  is  clear  in  heaven  and  sea, 

Her  silver  has  been  long 

Slow-changing  to  bright  gold,  but  she 

Deserves  a  separate  song. 


GREECE    AND    ITALY.  93 


ODE 

TO   THE   MOON    OF   THE    SOUTH. 

Let  him  go  down, — the  gallant  Sun  ! 

His  work  is  nobly  done  ; 

Well  may  He  now  absorb 

Within  his  solid  orb 
The  rays  so  beautiful  and  strong, 
The  rays  that  have  been  out  so  long 
Embracing  this  delighted  land  as  with  a  mystic  song. 

Let  the  brave  Sun  go  down  to  his  repose, 

And  though  his  heart  be  kind. 

He  need  not  mourn  for  those 
He  leaves  behind ; 
He  knows,  that  when  his  ardent  throne 
Is  rolled  beyond  the  vaulting  sky, 
The  Earth  shall  not  be  left  alone 
In  darkness  and  perplexity. 

We  shall  not  sit  in  sullen  sorrow 
Expectant  of  a  tardy  inorrow, 
But  there  where  he  himself  arose, 

Another  power  shall  rise, 
And  gracious  rivalry  disclose 

To  our  reverted  eyes, 


94  MEMORIALS    OF    TRAVELS   IN 

Between  the  passing  splendour  and  the  born, 
Which  can  the  most  our  happy  world  adorn. 

The  light  of  night  shall  rise, — 

Not  as  in  northern  skies, 

A  memory  of  the  day,  a  dream 

Of  sunshine,  something  that  might  seem 

Between  a  shadow  and  a  gleam, 

A  mystery,  a  maiden 

Whose  spirit  worn  and  sorrow  laden 

Pleasant  imaginations  wile 

Into  a  visionary  smile, 

A  novice  veiled  in  vapoury  shrouds, 

A  timid  huntress,  whom  the  clouds 
Rather  pursue  than  shun, — 
"With  far  another  mien. 
Wilt  Thou  come  forth  serene, 
Thou  full  and  perfect  Queen, 

Moon  of  the  South  !  twin-sister  of  the  Sun  ! 

Still  harboured  in  his  tent  of  cloth  of  gold 
He  seems  thy  ordered  presence  to  await, 
In  his  pure  soul  rejoicing  to  behold 
The  majesty  of  his  successor's  state, — 

Saluting  thy  ascent 
With  many  a  tender  and  triumphant  tone 
Compassing  in  his  celestial  instrument, 
And  harmonies  of  hue  to  other  climes  unknown. 


GREECE    AND    ITALY.  95 

He,  too,  who  knows  what  melody  of  word 
May  with  that  visual  music  best  accord, 
Why  does  the  Bard  his  homage  now  delay  ? 

As  in  the  ancient  East, 

The  royal  Minstrel-Priest 
Sang  to  his  harp  that  Hallelujah  lay 
Of  the  Sun-bridegroom  ready  for  his  way, 
So,  in  the  regions  of  the  later  West 

This  blessed  even-tide, 
Is  there  no  Poet  whose  divine  behest 

Shall  be  to  hail  the  bride  ? 

A  feeble  voice  may  give  an  earnest  sound, 

And  grateful  hearts  are  measured  not  by  power, 

Therefore  may  I,  tho'  nameless  and  uncrowned. 

Proffer  a  friendly  tribute  to  thy  dower. 

For  on  the  midland  Sea  I  sailed  of  old, 

Leading  thy  line  of  narrow  rippled  light, 

And  saw  it  grow  a  field  of  frosted  gold, 

With  every  boat  a  Shadow  in  the  Bright ; 

And  many  a  playful  fancy  has  been  mine. 

As  I  have  watched  the  shapes  thy  glory  made, 

Glimpsing  like  starHght  through  the  massive  j)ine, 

Or  finely-trellised  by  mimosa  shade ; 

And  now  I  trace  each  moment  of  thy  spell, 

That  frees  from  mortal  stain  these  Venice  isles, 

From  eve's  rich  shield  to  morn's  translucid  shell. 

From  Love's  young  glow  to  Love's  expiring  smiles  ! 


96  MEMORIALS    OF    TRAVELS   IN 

We  gaze  upon  the  faces  we  hold  dear, 
Each  feature  in  thy  rays  as  well  defined, 
As  just  a  symbol  of  informing  mind, 
As  when  the  moon  is  on  them  full  and  clear ; 
Yet  all  some  wise  attempered  and  subdued, 
Not  far  from  what  to  Faith's  prospective  eyes 
Transfigured  creatures  of  beatitude 
From  earthly  graves  arise. 

Those  evenings,  oh  !  those  evenings,  when  with  one. 

Then  the  world's  loveliness,  now  wholly  mine, 

I  stood  beside  the  salient  founts  that  shone 

Fit  frontispiece  to  Peter's  Roman  shrine ; 

I  knew  how  fair  were  She  and  They 

In  every  bright  device  of  day, 

All  hap^jy  as  a  lark  on  wing, 

A  singing,  glistening,  dancing  thing, 

With  joy  and  grace  that  seemed  to  be 

Of  Nature's  pure  necessity ; 

But  when,  O  holy  Moon  !  thy  might 

Turned  all  the  water  into  light, 

And  each  enchanted  Fountain  wore 

Diviner  beauty  than  before, 

A  pillar  of  aspiring  beams, 

An  ever-falling  veil  of  gleams, — 

She  who  in  day's  most  lively  hour 

Had  something  of  composing  power 

About  her  mirthful  lips  and  eyes, — 


GREECE    AND    ITALY.  97 

Sweet  folly  making  others  wise, — 
^Vas  vested  with  a  sudden  sense 
Of  great  and  grave  intelligence, 
As  if  in  thy  reflex  she  saw 
The  process  of  eternal  law, 
God's  conscious  pleasure  working  out 
Through  all  the  Passion,  Pain,  and  Doubt ; — 
And  thus  did  She  and  Thou  impart 
Such  knowledge  to  my  listening  heart, 
Such  sympathies  as  word  or  pen 
Can  never  tell  again  ! 

All  spirits  find  themselves  fulfilled  in  Thee, 
The  glad  have  triumph  and  the  mourning  balm  : 
Dear  God  !  how  wondrous  that  a  thing  should  be 
So  very  glorious  and  so  very  calm ! 
The  lover,  standing  on  a  lonely  height, 
Rests  his  sad  gaze  upon  the  scene  below, 
Lapt  in  the  trance  of  thy  pervading  glow, 
Till  pleasant  tears  obscure  his  pensive  sight ; 
And  in  his  bosom  those  long-smothered  flames, 
The  scorching  elements  of  vain  desire, 
Taking  the  nature  of  thy  gentle  fire, 
Play  round  the  heart  in  peace,  while  he  exclaims, 
"  Surely  my  Love  is  out  somewhere  to-night !  " 

Why  art  thou  thus  companionable  ?     Why 
Do  we  not  love  thy  light  alone,  but  Thee  ? 
vol..  I.  H 


98  MEMORIALS    OF    TRAVELS   IN 

Is  it  that  though  thou  art  so  pure  and  high, 
Thou  dost  not  shock  our  senses,  as  they  be  ? 
That  our  poor  eyes  rest  on  thee,  and  descry 
Islands  of  earth  within  thy  golden  sea? 
Or  should  the  root  be  sought 
In  some  unconscious  thought, 
That  thy  fine  presence  is  not  more  thine  own 
Than  are  our  soul's  adorning  splendours  ours  ? — 
Than  are  the  energies  and  powers. 
With  which  reflected  light  alone 
Illuminates  the  living  hours, 
From  our  own  wells  of  being  brought, 
From  virtue  self-infused  or  seed  of  life  self-sown  ? 
Thus  with  ascent  more  ready  may  we  pass 
From  this  delightful  sharing  of  thy  gifts 
Up  to  the  common  Giver,  Source,  and  Will ; 

And  if,  alas ! 
His  daily-affluent  sun-light  seldom  lifts 
To  thankful  ecstasy  our  hearts'  dull  mass. 
It  may  be  that  our  feeble  sight 
Will  not  confront  the  total  light, 
That  we  may  love,  in  nature  frail, 
To  blend  the  vivid  with  the  pale, 
The  dazzling  with  the  dim  : 
And  lo  !  how  God,  all-gracious  still 
Our  simplest  fancies  to  fulfil, 
Bids  us,  O  Southern  Moon,  thy  beauty  hail, 
In  Thee  rejoicing  and  adoring  Him. 


GREECE    AND    ITALY.  99 


PICTURES    IN    VERSE. 


PICTURE   BY  GIOV.    BELLINI,    IN   THE   CHURCH   OF  THE 
REDENTORE  AT  VENICE, 


THE    VIRGIN. 

Who  am  I,  to  be  so  far  exalted 
Over  all  the  maidens  of  Judaea, 
That  here  only  in  this  lonely  bosom 
Is  the  wonder-work  of  God  revealed  ? 
Oh  !  to  think  this  little,  little  infant, 
Whose  warm  limbs  upon  my  knees  are  resting, 
Helpless,  silent,  with  his  tender  eyelids, 
Like  two  pearl-shells,  delicately  closed, 
Is  informed  with  that  eternal  spirit, 
^Vho,  between  the  Cherubim  enthroned. 
Dwells  behind  the  Curtain  of  the  Temple  ! 
I  can  only  gaze  on  him  adoring. 
Fearful  lest  the  simple  joy  and  passion 
Which  my  mother-love  awakes  within  me, 
Be  not  something  bold  and  too  familiar 
For  this  Child  of  Miracle  and  Glory. 

H  2 


loo  MEMORIALS    OF    TRAVELS   IN 


TWO    ANGELS. 

(hlaving  on  instruments.) 

We  and  the  little  cheerful  goldfinch, 
Perched  above  that  blessed  seat, — 
He  above  and  we  below, — 
We  with  voices  and  sweet  viols, 
He  with  chirping  voice  alone, — 
Glorify  the  happy  Mother, 
Glorify  the  holy  Child. 
Now  that  our  great  heavenly  Master 
Has  put  on  this  wondrous  semblance 
Of  a  humble  mortal  infant, 
AVe,  the  Angels  of  his  presence, 
Are  become  as  simple  children. 
And  beside  him  watch,  admiring 
All  his  innocence  and  beauty. 
Lulling  him  to  downy  slumbers 
"With  remembrances  of  Heaven. 


THE    CHILD    JESUS. 


I  SEEM  to  be  asleep, — I  seem  to  dream, — 

l>ut  it  is  Ye,  Children  of  fallen  Man, 

Who  dream,  not  I.     Though  I  am  now  come  down. 

Out  of  the  Waking  of  Eternal  Truth, 


GREECE    AND    ITALY.  loi 

Here  born  into  the  miserable  Dream 

Of  your  poor  Life,  still  I  must  ever  wake, 

For  I  am  Love,  and  if  ye  follow  me, 

Ye  too  will  wake; — I  come  to  lead  the  way. 


II. 
THE    MARTYRDOM    OF    ST.    CHRISTINA, 

BY    VIXCENZO    CATENA,    IxN    THE    CHURCH    OF    SANTA    MARIA 
MATER   DOMINI,    AT   VENICE. 


ST.    CHRISTINA.        * 
(kneeling.) 

I  KNEW,  I  knew,  it  would  be  so. 

That,  in  this  long-expected  hour, 

Thou  would'st  not  leave  me,  Christ,  my  Lord  ! 

My  poor  blind-hearted  enemies 

Have  brought  me  here  to  die, — even  here, 

In  this  my  old  delight,  the  Lake 

Of  dear  Bolsena ;  they  have  tied 

About  my  weak  and  slender  neck 

A  ponderous  millstone,  that  my  frame 

INIay  be  dragged  down  to  surest  death 

Within  that  undulating  tomb. 

The  stone  is  there, — the  cord  is  there, 


102  MEMORIALS    OF    TRAVELS   IN 

But  the  gross  weight  I  cannot  feel, 
For  round  me,  even  while  I  pray, 
Beautiful-winged  childly  shapes 
Are  gathering,  smiling  glorious  smiles. 
^V^ith  what  deep  looks  of  sympathy 
They  dwell  upon  me  !  with  what  care 
Some  raise  the  cord,  some  raise  the  stone, 
So  that  it  cannot  sway  me  down. 
O  my  soul's  lover  !  Saviour  Christ ! 

take  this  earnest  of  thy  grace. 
Assured  that  I  shall  lay  aside 
The  coil  of  this  tormented  flesh. 
Without  a  thought  of  fear  or  pain, — 
That,  when  this  mortal  shell  is  cast 
Into  the  slifling  element. 
That  instrument  of  my  distress 
Will,  at  thy  blessed  will,  be  changed 
Into  the  very  air  of  Heaven. 


CHORUS    OF    ANGELS. 

Sister  Christine,  sweetest  Sister, 
Know  you  not  from  whom  we  come  ? 
See,  we  kneel  around  you  kneeling. 
Offering  kind  and  loving  duty. 
All  we  can  to  soothe  your  suffering, 


GREECE    AND    ITALY.  103 

All  we  can  to  make  you  glad  ! 

Ah !  we  see  vou  look  with  wonder, 

That  our  small  and  tender  hands 

Can  raise  up  this  heavy  stone, 

Without  show  of  pain  or  labour : 

Do  you  believe  then, 

That,  because  our  long  gold  hair, 

And  our  rosy-rounded  faces, 

And  our  laughing  lips  and  eyes. 

And  our  baby-moulded  limbs 

Are  like  those  of  earthly  children, 
We  have  not  the  strength,  the  glory,  and  the  power, 
Wliich  our  Father  gives  unto  his  dear  ones, — 
Which  he  will  give  to  you,  most  happy  Christine, 

For  you  have  loved  him  ? 


CHRIST. 

(above,  speaking  to  an  angel.) 


Angel  !  to  thee  is  given  the  noble  charge 
To  bear  this  martyr-mantle  perfect-white 
To  ray  dear  daughter  Christine  there  below ; 
That  she,  when  clothed  thus  worthily,  may  pass 
From  the  hard  triumph  of  her  prison-life 
To  the  embraces  of  essential  Love. 


104  MEMORIALS    OF    TRAVELS    IN 

ANGEL. 

(kneeling,  and  holding  the  mantle.) 

Burning  with  delight,  I  haste 
This  liigh  mission  to  perform, — 
But  it  is  an  awful  task, 
Even  for  an  Angel's  hands. 
Such  a  power  of  God  to  hold, 
As  the  sign  of  Martyrdom. 


III. 

JESUS   AND    JOHN    CONTENDING    FOR    THE 

CROSS. 

BY  SIMEONE  DA  PESARO  ;  IN  THE  COLLECTION  OF  THE 
SEMINARY  AT  VENICE. 


THE     CHILD     JOHN. 

(trying    to   take   the   cross   out   of   the    hand   of    JESUS.) 

Give  me  the  Cross,  I  pray  you,  dearest  Jesus ! 
()li !  if  you  knew  how  much  I  wish  to  have  it. 
You  would  not  hold  it  in  your  hand  so  tightly : 
Something  has  told  me, — something  in  my  heart  here, 
Which  I  am  sure  is  true, — that  if  you  keep  it, — 
\i  you  will  let  no  other  take  it  from  you, — 


GREECE    AND    ITALY.  105 

Terrible  thing?,  I  cannot  bear  to  think  of, 
Must  fall  upon  you ;  show  me  that  you  love  me  : 
Am  I  not  here  to  be  your  little  servant, 
Follow  your  steps  and  wait  upon  your  wishes  ? 
\\'\\y  may  I  not  take  up  the  heavy  plaything, 
And  on  my  shoulder  carry  it  behind  you  ? 
Then,  I  am  older,  stronger  too,  than  you  are ; 
1  am  a  child  o'  the  desert  and  the  mountains  ; — 
Deep  i'  the  waste,  I  shouted  at  the  wild  bees, — 
They  flew  away,  and  left  me  all  the  honey  : 
Look  at  the  shaggy  skin  I've  tied  about  me  ; 
Surely,  if  Pain  or  any  other  evil 
Somewhere  about  this  mystery  be  hidden, 
I  am  the  fittest  of  the  two  to  suffer  1 


THE    CHILD    JESUS. 
(holding  the  cross  firmly.) 


Ask   me   not,   my  gentle   brother,— ask  no  more,   it 

must  not  be  : 
In  the  heart  of  this  poor  trifle  lies  the  secret  unre- 

vealed 
Which  has  brought  me  to  this  world,  and  sent  you  to 

prepare  my  way. 
In  the  long  and  weary  woodland,  where  your  path  of 

life  will  lead, 


io6  MEMORIALS    OF    TRAVELS   IN 

Thousand,   myriad,   other   Crosses   you  will   find  on 

every  side  ; 
And  the  same  eternal  Law  that  bids  me  take  this 

chiefest  one. 
Will  be  there  to  give  you  many,  grievous   as   your 

strength  can  bear ; 
But  in  vain  would  you  and  others  sink  beneath  the 

holy  load. 
Were  I  not  with  mine  before  you,   Captain  of  the 

Crucified  ; 
I  must  be  your  elder  Brother  in  the  heritage  of  Pain ; 
I  must  give  you  to  our  Father,— I  must  fall  for  you  to 

rise. 


THE    VIRGIN. 

(with  her  hand  on  the  cross.) 

My  soul  is  weak  with  doubt, — 

What  can  I  think  or  do  ? 
To  which  of  these  dear  children  shall  I  yield 
The  object  of  their  earnest  looks  and  words  ? 

Ah  me  !  I  see  within 

That  artless  wooden  form, 
A  meaning  of  exceeding  misery, 
A  dark,  dark  shadow  of  oncoming  woe. 


GREECE    AND    ITALY.  107 


Oh  !  give  it  up,  my  child  ! 

I  see  your  bright  eyes  close, 
Your  soft  fair  fingers  spattered  all  with  blood, 
Your  cheeks  dead  pale ; — throw  down  the  horrid  toy. 

He  grasps  it  firmer  still ! 

I  dare  not  thwart  his  hand  ; 
For  what  he  does,  he  does  not  of  himself, 
But  in  the  Will  of  Him  who  sent  him  here. 

And  I,  who  labour  blind 

In  this  abysmal  work, 
Must  bear  the  weight  of  dumb  expectancy. 
Of  women  first  in  honour  and  in  woe  ! 


IV. 

CHRIST'S    DESCENT    INTO    PURGATORY. 

BY   GIORGIONE,    AT   VENICE. 

The  saving  work  for  man  is  finished, 
The  kingdoms  of  the  Earth  and  Air  o'erthrown ; 
So  now  hath  Christ  come  down  among  the  dead, 
Spoiling  the  Spoiler,  to  redeem  his  own. 
What  blessed  glory  plays  about  that  head 
For  those  who  here  in  fiery  bondage  groan, 


loS  MEMORIALS    OF    TRAVELS   IN 

Conscious  their  suffering  never  could  atone 
For  Sin,  till  He  that  once  had  suffered. 
And,  lo  !  in  patient  melancholy  state 
The  synod  of  the  Patriarchs  rests  apart 
Condemned,  tho'  sons  of  God  by  faith,  to  wait 
In  this  dark  place  and  solitude  of  heart, 
Joyless  and  tearless,  till  this  Christ  should  come 
To  bear  them  to  their  Father  and  their  FTome. 


GREECE    AND    ITALY.  109 


SIR    WALTER   SCOTT    AT    THE    TOMB    OF 
THE    STUARTS    IN    ST.    PETER'S* 

Eve's  tinted  shadows  slowly  fill  the  fane 
Where  Art  has  taken  almost  Nature's  room, 
AVhile  still  two  objects  clear  in  light  remain, 
An  alien  pilgrim  at  an  alien  tomb. — 

— A  sculptured  tomb  of  regal  heads  discrown'd, 
Of  one  heart-worshipped,  fancy-haunted,  name, 
Once  loud  on  earth,  but  now  scarce  else  renown'd 
Than  as  the  offspring  of  that  stranger's  fame. 

There  lie  the  Stuarts  ! — There  lingers  Walter  Scott  ! 
Strange  congress  of  illustrious  thoughts  and  things  ! 
A  plain  old  moral,  still  too  oft  forgot, — 
The  power  of  Genius  and  the  fall  of  Kings. 

The  curse  on  lawless  Will  high-planted  there, 
A  beacon  to  the  world,  shines  not  for  him  ; 
He  is  with  those  who  felt  their  life  was  sere, 
When  the  TuU  light  of  loyalty  grew  dim. 


*  When  Sir  Walter  Scott  was  at  Rome,  the  year  of  his  death,  the  history 
and  localities  of  the  Stuarts  seen;if)  to  absorb  all  other  objects  of  his  interest. 
The  circumstance  of  this  poem  fi-li  wilhin  the  observation  of  the  writer. 


no  MEMORIALS    OF    TRAVELS  IN 

He  rests  his  chin  upon  a  sturdy  staff, 
Historic  as  that  sceptre,  theirs  no  more ; 
His  gaze  is  fixed ;  his  thirsty  heart  can  quaff, 
For  a  short  hour,  the  spirit-draughts  of  yore. 

Each  figure  in  its  pictured  place  is  seen, 
Each  fancied  shape  his  actual  vision  fills. 
From  the  long-pining,  death-delivered,  Queen, 
To  the  worn  Outlaw  of  the  heathery  hills. 

O  grace  of  life,  which  shame  could  never  mar  ! 
O  dignity,  that  circumstance  defied  ! 
Pure  is  the  neck  that  wears  the  deathly  scar. 
And  sorrow  has  baptised  the  front  of  pride. 

But  purpled  mantle,  and  blood-crimson'd  shroud, 
Exiles  to  suffer  and  returns  to  woo. 
Are  gone,  like  dreams  by  daylight  disallow'd ; 
And  their  historian, — he  is  sinking  too  ! 

A  few  more  moments  and  that  labouring  brow 
Cold  as  those  royal  busts  and  calm  will  lie ; 
And,  as  on  them  his  thoughts  are  resting  now, 
His  marbled  form  will  meet  the  attentive  eye. 

Thus,  face  to  face,  the  dying  and  the  dead, 
Bound  in  one  solemn  ever-living  bond, 
Communed ;  and  I  was  sad  that  ancient  head 
Ever  should  pass  those  holy  walls  beyond. 


GREECE    AND    ITALY.  in 


THE    ILLUMINATIONS    OF    ST.    PETER'S. 


FIRST    ILLUMINATION.* 

Temple  !  where  Time  has  wed  Eternity, 

How  beautiful  Thou  art,  beyond  compare. 

Now  emptied  of  thy  massive  majesty, 

And  made  so  faery-frail,  so  faery-fair  : 

The  lineaments  that  thou  art  wont  to  wear 

Augustly  traced  in  ponderous  masonry, 

Lie  faint  as  in  a  woof  of  filmy  air, 

Within  their  frames  of  mellow  jewelry. — 

But  yet  how  sweet  the  hardly-waking  sense, 

That  when  the  strength  of  hours  has  quenched  those 

gems. 
Disparted  all  those  soft-bright  diadems, — 
Still  in  the  Sun  thy  form  will  rise  supreme 
In  its  own  solid  clear  magnificence, 
•  Divinest  substance  then,  as  now  divinest  dream. 

»  Translated  by  C.  J.  M'C— 

Tempio  !  che  '1  ciel  con  quest'  angusto  mondo 
E  '1  tempo  coir  eternita  mariti, 


112  MEMORIALS    OF    TRAVELS   IN 


II. 
SECOND    ILLUMINATION. 

Mv  heart  was  resting  with  a  peaceful  gaze, 
So  peaceful  that  it  seemed  I  well  could  die 
Entranced  before  such  Beauty, — when  a  cry- 
Burst  from  me,  and  I  sunk  in  dumb  amaze : 
The  molten  stars  before  a  withering  blaze 
Paled  to  annihilation,  and  my  eye, 
Stunned  by  the  splendour,  saw  against  the  sky 
Nothing  but  light, — sheer  light, — and  light's  own  haze. 
At  last  that  giddying  Sight  took  form, — and  then 
Appeared  the  stable  Vision  of  a  Crown, 
From  the  black  vault  by  unseen  Power  let  down. 
Cross-topped, — thrice  girt  with  flame  : — 

Cities  of  men, 
Queens  of  the  Earth  !  bow  low, — was  ever  brow 
Of  mortal  birth  adorned  as  Rome  is  now? 


Di  qua!  bellezze  nuove  il  vi?o  inondo 
Or  che  mite  e  fral  tu  lo  sguardo  inviti  ! 
Sorridon  sciolti  sotto  vel  profondo 
Quel  tratti  gik  da  fermo  sasso  uniti, 
Tela  di  luce  sol  ti  fa  giocondo, — 
Sol  di  gemme,  d'l  fiamma,  e'  son  vestiti. 
Eppur  che  gioia  nel  pensier  segrcto 
Che  quando  1'  avidc  Ore  e  1'  invidioso 
Sol  spegneran  quel  fregio,  or  si  pomposo, 
'J  u  lion  perciu  vedrai  a  te  rovina, 
Ma  sempre  stai  eterno  e  chiaro  e  lieto. 
Or  diviii  sogno,  or  realta  divina  ! 


GREECE    AND    ITALY.  \\. 


III. 

REFLECTION. 

Past  is  the  first  dear  phantom  of  our  sight, 

A  loadstar  of  calm  loveliness  to  draw 

All  souls  from  out  this  world  of  fault  and  flaw, 

To  a  most  perfect  centre  of  delight, 

Merged  in  deep  fire ;— our  joy  is  turned  to  awe, 

Delight  to  wonder.     This  is  just  and  right; — 

A  greater  light  puts  out  the  lesser  light, — 

So  be  it  ever, — such  is  God's  high  law. 

The  self-same  Sun  that  calls  the  flowers  from  earth 

Withers  them  soon,  to  give  the  fruit  free  birth  ; — 

The  nobler  Spirit  to  whom  much  is  given 

Must  take  still  more,  though  in  that  more  there  lie 

The  risk  of  losing  All ; — to  gaze  at  Heaven, 

We  blind  our  earthly  eyes ; — to  live  we  die. 


VUL.   I. 


114  MEMORIALS    OF    TRAVELS   IN 


THE    FIREWORKS. 

FROM   THE   CASTLE   OF   ST.   ANGELO. 

Play  on,  play  on,  I  share  your  gorgeous  glee, 

Creatures  of  elemental  mirth  !  play  on, — 

Let  each  fulfil  his  marvellous  destiny, 

My  heart  leaps  up  and  falls  in  unison. 

The  Tower  round  which  ye  weave,  with  elfin  grace, 

The  modulations  of  your  burning  dance, 

Looks  through  your  gambols  with  a  grandsire's  face, 

A  grave  but  not  reproachful  countenance  j 

Ye  are  the  children  of  a  festive  night, 

He  is  the  mate  of  many  an  hundred  years, — 

Ye  but  attest  men's  innocent  delight, 

He  is  the  comrade  of  their  crimes  and  tears, — 

Ye  in  your  joy's  pure  prime  will  flare  away, 

He  waits  his  end  in  still  and  slow  decay. 


GREECE    AND    ITALY.  115 


ON  THE  MARRIAGE  OF  THE  LADY  GWEN- 

DOLIN    TALBOT    WITH    THE     ELDEST 

SON    OF   THE    PRINCE  BORGHESE. 

Lady  !  to  decorate  thy  marriage  morn, 

Rare  gems,  and  flowers,  and  lofty  songs  are  brought  \ 

Thou  the  plain  utterance  of  a  Poet's  thought, 

Thyself  at  heart  a  Poet,  wilt  not  scorn  : 

The  name,  into  whose  splendour  thou  wert  born. 

Thou  art  about  to  change  for  that  which  stands 

Writ  on  the  proudest  work*  that  mortal  hands 

Have  raised  from  earth,  Religion  to  adorn. 

Take  it  rejoicing, — take  with  thee  thy  dower, 

Britain's  best  blood,  and  Beauty  ever  new, 

Being  of  mind  ;  may  the  cool  northern  de^v 

Still  rest  upon  thy  leaves,  transplanted  flower ! 

Mingling  thy  English  nature,  pure  and  true, 

With  the  bright  growth  of  each  Italian  hour.   ' 

Rome,  May  nth,  1835. 

*  St.  Peter's. 


ii6  MEMORIALS    OF    TRAVELS  IN 


ON    THE    DEATH    OF    THE    PRINCESS 
BORGHESE, 

AT   ROME,    NOVEMBER,    1S4O. 

Once,  and  but  once  again  I  dare  to  raise 

A  voice  which  thou  in  spirit  still  may'st  hear, 

Now  that  thy  bridal  bed  becomes  a  bier, 

Now  that  thou  canst  not  blush  at  thine  own  praise  ! 

The  ways  of  God  are  not  as  our  best  ways, 

And  thus  we  ask,  with  a  convulsive  tear. 

Why  is  this  northern  blossom  low  and  sere  ? 

Why  has  it  blest  the  south  but  these  few  days  ? 

Another  Basilic,*  decked  otherwise 

Than  that  which  hailed  thee  as  a  princely  bride, 

Receives  thee  and  three  little  ones  beside  ; 

While  the  young  lord  of  that  late  glorious  home 

Stands  'mid  these  ruins  and  these  agonies. 

Like  some  lone  column  of  his  native  Rome  ! 


■*  S.  Maria  Maggiore,  where  the  Borghese  family  are  interred. 


GREECE    AND    ITALY.  117 


ROMAN    RUINS. 

How  could  Rome  live  so  long,  and  now  be  dead  ? 
How  came  this  waste  and  wilderness  of  stones  ? 
How  shows  the  orbed  monster,  so  long  fed 
On  mart}T-blood,  his  bare  and  crumbling  bones? 
Did  the  strong  Faith,  that  built  eight  hundred  years 
Of  world-dominion  on  a  robber's  name, 
Once  animate  this  corse,  and  fervent  seers 
Augur  it  endless  life  and  shadeless  fame  ? 
Stranger  !  if  thou  a  docile  heart  dost  bring 
Within  thee,  bear  a  timely  precept  hence  ; 
That  Power,  mere  Power,  is  but  a  barren  thing, 
Even  when  it  seems  most  like  omnipotence ; 
The  forms  must  pass, — and  past,  they  leave  behind 
Little  to  please,  and  nought  to  bless  mankind. 


nS  MEMORIALS    OF    TRAVELS   LN 


ON  A  SCENE    IN   TUSCANY. 

What  good  were  it  to  dim  the  pleasure-glow, 
That  lights  thy  cheek,  fair  Girl,  in  scenes  like  these, 
By  shameful  facts,  and  piteous  histories  ? 
"\Miile  we  enjoy,  what  matters  what  we  know? 
What  tender  love-sick  looks  on  us  below 
Those  Mountains  cast  !  how  courteously  the  Trees 
Raise  up  their  branching  heads  in  calices 
For  the  thick  Vine  to  fill  and  overflow  ! 
This  nature  is  like  Thee,  all-bright,  all-mild; 
If  then  some  self-wise  man  should  say,  that  here 
Hate,  sin,  and  death  held  rule  for  many  a  year, 
That  of  this  kindliest  earth  there's  not  a  rood 
l!ut  has  been  saturate  with  brother's  blood, — 
Believe  him  not,  believe  him  not,  my  Child. 


GREECE    AND    ITALY.  iiQ 


AN   INCIDENT    AT   PISA. 

"  From  the  common  burial-ground 
Mark'd  by  some  j^eculiar  bound. 
Beppo  !  who  are  these  that  He 
Like  one  numerous  family?  " 

"  They  whose  bodies  rest  within 

This  appointed  place, 

Signor  !  never  knew  of  sin, 

Only  knew  of  grace. 

Purified  from  earthly  leaven, 

They  have  mounted  straight  to  heaven, 

"V^^ithout  sorrow,  without  thrall, 

Blessed  children,  angels  all !  " 

"  But  that  second  space,  with  art 
Fenc'd  from  all  the  rest  apart, 
Though  from  those  sweet  infants'  bed 
By  a  low  wall  separated — 
Beppo  !  who  are  these,  and  why 
To  the  others  laid  so  nigh?" 


I20  MEMORIALS    OF    TRAVELS    IN 

"  Signer  !  they  who  moulder  here, 
Be  it  wrong  or  right, 
Shake  with  many  a  pang  of  fear 
Passers-by  at  night : 
Men  of  passion,  vice,  and  pride, 
Who  in  evil  liv'd  and  died, 
Unrepentant,  unconfess'd, 
By  the  sacraments  unbless'd  ; 
Though  with  these  are  mingled  some 
That  deserv'd  a  better  doom. 
When  by  sudden  death  waylaid, 
Ere  their  peace  with  God  was  made  : 
But  why  they  who  guiltless  die 
By  those  reprobates  should  lie, 
Signor !  the  priest  may  know,  not  I." 

In  these  words  the  truth  discerning, 
Much  I  ponder'd,  home  returning. 
Whether  chance  or  wise  design 
Drew  this  thin  dividing  line. 
Almost  blending  in  this  close 
Old  decay  and  young  repose  ; 
Almost  laying  side  by  side 
Those  who  hardly  liv'd  and  died, 
And  the  wretched  ones  for  whom 
Life  has  been  a  very  tomb. 

Oh  !  if  in  our  utmost  need 
Love  has  power  to  intercede — ■ 


GREECE    AND    ITALY.  121 

If  between  us  and  our  foes 
Innocence  may  interpose — 
May  not  they,  who  dare  not  claim 
Pardon  in  the  church's  name, 
By  some  sweet  and  secret  law 
From  these  little  neighbours  draw 
Blessings  such  as  nature  gave 
To  the  angel-rufifled  wave  ; 
Finding  a  Bethesda's  worth 
In  this  angcl-planted  earth  ? 


122  MEMORIALS    OF    TRAVELS   IN 


NAPLES  AND   VENICE. 

Overlooking,  overhearing,  Naples  and  her  subject 
bay, 

Stands  Camaldoh,  the  convent,  shaded  from  the  incle- 
ment ray. 

Thou,  who  to  that  lofty  terrace,  lov'st  on  summer-eve 

to  go, 
Tell  me.  Poet !  what  Thou  seest, — what  Thou  hearest, 

there  below ! 

Beauty,  beauty,  perfect  beauty  !  Sea  and  City,  Hills 

and  Air, 
Rather  blest  imaginations  than  realities  of  fair. 

Forms  of  grace  alike   contenting  casual  glance  and 

stedfast  gaze, 
Tender  lights  of  pearl   and  opal  mingling  with  the 

diamond  blaze. 

Sea  is  but  as  deepen'd  aether :  white  as  snow-uTeaths 

sunbeshone 
Lean   the   Palaces   and   Temples   green   and   purple 

heights  upon. 


GREECE    AND    ITALY.  123 


Streets  and  paths  mine  eye  is  tracing,  all  replete  with 

clamorous  throng, 
i-Vhere  I  see  and  where  I  see  not,  waves  of  uproar  roll 

along. 

'\s  the  sense  of  bees  unnumber'd,  burning  through  the 

walk  of  limes, — 
As  the  thought  of  armies  gathering  round  a  chief  in 

ancient  times, — 

So  from  Corso,  Port,  and  Garden,  rises  Life's  tu- 
multuous strain, 

N'ot  secure  from  wildest  utterance  rests  the  perfect- 
crystal  main. 

Still  the  all-enclosing  Beauty  keeps  my  spirit  free  from 

harm, 
Distance    blends    the    veriest    discords    into    some 

melodious  charm. 

— Overlooking,  overhearing,  Venice  and  her  sister 

isles, 
■Stands  the  giant  Campanile  massive  'mid  a  thousand 

piles. 

Thou  who  to  this  open  summit  lov'st  at  every  hour  to 

Tell  me.  Poet !  what  Thou  seest,  what  Thou  hearest, 
there  below. 


124  MEMORIALS    OF    TRAVELS    IN 


Wonder,  wonder,  perfect  wonder !  Ocean  is  the  City's 

moat ; 
On  the  bosom  of  broad    Ocean    seems   the   mighty 

weight  to  float : 

Seems— yet  stands  as  strong  and  stable  as  on  land  e'er 
city  shall, — 

Only    moves    that   Ocean-serpent,    tide-impelled   the  , 
Great  Canal. 

Rich  arcades   and  statued  pillars,  gleaming  banners, 

burnished  domes, — 
Ships  approaching,— ships  departing,— countless  ships 

in  harbour-homes. 

Yet  so  silent !  scarce  a  murmur  winged  to  reach  this 

airy  seat. 
Hardly  from  the  close  Piazza  rises  sound  of  voice  or 

feet. 

Plash  of  oar  or  single  laughter, — cry  or  song  of  Gon- 
dolier,— 

Signals  far  between  to  tell  me  that  the  work  of  life  is 
here. 

Like  a  glorious  maiden  dreaming  music  in  the  drowsy 

heat, 
Lies  the  City,  unbetokening  where  its  myriad  pulses 

beat. 


GREECE    AND    ITALY.  125 


And  I  think  myself  in  cloudland, — almost  try  my  power 

of  will, 
Whether   I   can   change   the   picture,   or  it  must  be 

Venice  still. 

When  the  question  wakes  within  me,  which  hath  won 

the  crown  of  deed, 
Venice  with  her  moveless  silence,   Naples  with  her 

noisy  speed  ? 

Which  hath  wTit  the  goodlier  tablet  for  the  past  to 

hoard  and  show, 
Venice  in  her  student  stillness,  Naples  in  her  living 

glow  ? 

Here  are  Chronicles  with  virtues  studded  as  the  night 

with  stars, — 
Records  there  of  passions  raging  through  a  wilderness 

of  wars  : 

There  a  tumult  of  Ambitions,  Power  afloat  on  blood 

and  tears, — ■ 
Here  one  simple  reign  of  Wisdom  stretching  thirteen 

hundred  years  : 

Self-subsisting,  self-devoted,  there  the  moment's  Hero 

ruled, — 
Here  the  State,  each  one  subduing,  pride  enchained 

and  passion  schooled : 


126  MEMORIALS    OF  TRAVELS   IN 


Here  was  Art  the  nation's  mistress,  Art  of  colour,  Art 

of  stone — 
There  before  the  leman  Pleasure  bowed  the  people's 

soul  alone. 

Venice  !  vocal  is  thy  silence,  can  our  soul  but  rightly 

hear; 
Naples  !  dumb  as  death  thy  voices,  listen  we  however 

near. 


GREECE    AND    ITALY.  127 


CANN^. 

Save  where  Garganus,  Anth  low-ridged  bound, 
Protects  the  North,  the  eye  outstretching  far 

Surveys  one  sea  of  gently-sweUing  ground, 
A  fitly-moulded  "  Orchestra  of  War." 

Here  Aufidus,  between  his  humble  banks 

With  wild  thyme  plotted,  winds  along  the  plain, 

A  devious  path,  as  when  the  serried  ranks 
Passed  over  it,  that  passed  not  back  again. 

The  long-homed  herds  enjoy  the  cool  delight, 
Sleeping  half-merged,  to  shun  the  deep  sun-glow, 

Which,  that  May-morning,*  dazed  the  Roman  sight. 
But  fell  innocuous  on  the  subtler  foe. 


We  feel  the  wind  upon  our  bosoms  beat, 

That  whilom  dimmed  with  dust  those  noble  eyes,+ 

And  rendered  aimless  many  a  gallant  feat. 

And  brought  disgrace  on  many  a  high  emprise. 


*  The  battle  was  fought  on  the  21st  of  May,  B.C.  216. 
t  Vultumus,  a  south-ea.st  wind,  probably  a  local  name. 


128  MEMORIALS   OF    TRAVELS   IN 

And  close  beside  us  rests  the  ancient  well,* 
Where  at  the  end  of  that  accursed  day, 

Apulian  peasants  to  their  grandsons  tell, 
The  friend  and  follower  of  wise  Fabius  lay  ; 

Here  fainting  lay,  compelled  by  fate  to  share 

Shame  not  his  own, — here  spurned  the  scanty  time 

Still  left  for  flight,  lest,  living,  he  might  bear 

Hard  witness  to  his  colleague's  generous  crime. t 

I  have  seen  many  fields  where  men  have  fought 
AVith  mightier  issues,  but  not  one,  I  deem. 

Where  history  offers  to  reflecting  thought. 
So  sharp  a  check  of  greatness  so  supreme. 


*  The  only  localities  preserved  in  the  tradition  are  this  large  fountain, 
which  goes  by  the  name  of  the  "  Consul's  Well,"  and  "  The  Place  of  Elood," 
a  farm-house  on  the  other  side  of  the  river,  where  they  say  the  Roman 
prisoners  were  massacred. 

t  Abi,  nuncia  publice  patribus  urbem  Romam  muniant  ....  privatimque 
Fabio,  L.  yEmilium  prseceptorum  ejus  memorem  extitisse,  et  vixisse,  et 
adhuc  mori ;  et  tu  me,  in  hac  strage  militum  meorum,  patere  exspirare,  ne 
ut  reus  inteream,  caus&que  consulatus  accusator  collegae  existam,  ut  .ilieno 
rimine  innocentiam  meam  protcgam.     Liv.  xxii. 


GREECE    AND    ITALY.  129 


ON   LEAVING   ITALY, 

FOR   THE    SUMMER,    ON    ACCOUNT    OF    HEALTH. 

Thou  summer-land  !  that  dost  put  on  the  sun 

Not  as  a  dress  of  pomp  occasional, 

But  as  thy  natural  and  most  fitting  one, — 

Yet  still  thy  Beauty  has  its  festival. 

Its  OAvn  chief  day, 

And  I,  though  conscious  of  the  bliss  begun, 

Must  turn  away  ! 

I  leave  thee  in  thy  royalest  attire 

Of  affluent  life, — I  leave  thee  'mid  thy  wealth 

Of  sunlight  gold  and  jewels  of  all  fire, — 

Led  by  the  paltry  care  of  weakened  health 

And  fear  of  pain  ; 

AVho  knows  that  I  shall  see,  ere  I  expire, 

Thy  face  again  ! 

I  almost  could  persuade  me  that  too  dear 

My  Northern-island  birthdom  has  been  bought. 

The  vantage-ground  of  intellect,  the  clear 

And  bright  expanse  of  action  and  of  thought, 

If  I  am  bound 

To  limit  all  the  good  my  heart  has  sought 

To  that  cold  ground. 

VOL.  I.  ic 


I30  MEMORIALS    OF    TRAVELS   /A 

What  is  my  gain  that  I  can  take  and  mesh 
The  Beautiful  in  Nature's  deepest  sea, 
If  I  am  bound  the  bondman  of  the  flesh, 
And  must  not  float  upon  the  surface  free  ? 
Why  should  these  powers 
Bring  nothing  but  a  burden  ever  fresh 
Of  yearning  hours  ? 

Why  do  we  wish  the  things  we  do  not  dare  ? 

Why  do  I  tremble  at  my  sestuous  Soul 

That  would  embrace  the  burning  god,  and  there 

Give  up  into  the  elemental  whole 

Its  worthless  frame, 

Whose  instincts  guide  me  captive  everj^vhere, 

In  grief  and  shame  ? 

Oh  !  what  a  world  of  strifes  of  good  and  ill 
Is  this  that  we  are  cast  in  ?     Head  and  Heart, 
Body  and  Spirit,  Faculties  and  Will, 
Nothing  at  peace,  all  sundered  and  apart ; 
Who  would  not  shun 

This  war,  if  Death  were  sure  to  make  him  still, 
Or  make  him  One  ! 


GREECE    AND    ITALY.  131 


SWITZERLAND    AND    ITALY. 

Within  the  Switzer's  varied  land, 
When  Summer  chases  high  the  snow, 
You'll  meet  with  many  a  youthful  band 
Of  strangers  wandering  to  and  fro  : 
Through  hamlet,  town,  and  healing  bath, 
They  haste  and  rest  as  chance  may  call. 
No  day  Avithout  its  mountain-path, 
No  path  without  its  waterfall. 


They  make  the  hours  themselves  repay, 
However  well  or  ill  be  shared, 
Content  that  they  should  wing  their  way. 
Unchecked,  unreckoned,  uncompared  : 
For  though  the  hills  unshapely  rise. 
And  lie  the  colours  poorly  bright, — 
They  mould  them  by  their  cheerful  eyes, 
And  paint  them  with  their  spirit's  light. 

K  2 


132  MEMORIALS    OF    TRAVELS   IN 


Strong  in  their  youthfulness,  they  use 
The  energies  their  souls  possess ; 
And  if  some  way^vard  scene  refuse 
To  pay  its  part  of  loveUness, — 
Onward  they  pass,  nor  less  enjoy 
For  what  they  leave  ; — and  far  from  me 
Be  every  thought  that  would  destroy 
A  charm  of  that  simplicity  ! 


But  if  one  blot  on  that  white  page 

From  Doubt  or  Misery's  pen  be  thrown, — 

If  once  the  sense  awake,  that  Age 

Is  counted  not  by  years  alone, — 

Then  no  more  grand  and  wonderous  things  ! 

No  active  happinesses  more  ! 

The  wounded  Heart  has  lost  its  wings, 

And  change  can  only  fret  the  sore. 


Yet  there  is  calm  for  those  that  weep. 
Where  the  divine  Italian  sea 
Rests  like  a  maiden  hushed  asleep 
And  breathing  low  and  measuredly ; 
Where  all  the  sunset-purpled  ground. 
Fashioned  by  those  delicious  airs, 
Seems  strewed  with  softest  cushions  round 
For  weary  heads  to  loose  their  cares : 


GREECE    AND    ITALY.  133 

Where  Nature  offers,  at  all  hours, 
Out  of  her  free  imperial  store, 
That  perfect  Beauty  their  weak  powers 
Can  hielp  her  to  create  no  more  : 
And  grateful  for  that  ancient  aid, 
Comes  forth  to  comfort  and  relieve 
Those  minds  in  prostrate  sorrow  laid. 
Bidding  them  open  and  receive  ! 

Though  still  'tis  hardly  she  that  gives, 
For  Nature  reigns  not  there  alone, 
A  mightier  queen  beside  her  lives. 
Whom  she  can  serve  but  not  dethrone  ; 
For  she  is  fallen  from  the  state 
That  waited  on  her  Eden-prime, 
And  Art  remains  by  Sin  and  Fate 
Unscathed,  for  Art  is  not  of  Time. 


PALM    LEAVES. 


THE  GREEK   AT   CONSTANTINOPLE. 

The  cypresses  of  Scutari 

In  stem  magnificence  look  down 
On  the  bright  lake  and  stream  of  sea, 

And  glittering  theatre  of  to^\'n  : 
Above  the  throng  of  rich  kiosks, 

Above  the  towers  in  triple  tire, 
Above  the  domes  of  loftiest  mosques, 

These  pinnacles  of  death  aspire. 


It  is  a  wilderness  of  tombs, — 

Where  white  and  gold  and  brilliant  hue 
Contrast  with  Nature's  gravest  glooms. 

As  these  again  with  heaven's  clear  blue : 
The  city's  multitudinous  hum, 

So  far,  yet  strikes  the  listening  ear, — 
But  what  are  thousands  to  the  sum 

Of  millions  calmly  sleeping  here  ? 


THE   GREEK  A  T  CONSTANTINOPLE.         135 


For  here,  whate'er  his  Ufe's  degree, 

The  MusHm  loves  to  rest  at  last, 
Loves  to  recross  the  band  of  sea 

That  parts  him  from  his  people's  past. 
'Tis  well  to  live  and  lord  o'er  those 

By  whom  his  sires  were  most  renowTied, 
But  his  fierce  heart  finds  best  repose 

In  this  traditionary  ground. 


From  this  funereal  forest's  edge 

I  gave  my  sight  full  range  below, 
Reclining  on  a  grassy  ledge. 

Itself  a  grave,  or  seeming  so  : 
And  that  huge  city  flaunting  bright. 

That  crowded  port  and  busy  shore. 
With  roofs  and  minarets  steeped  in  light. 

Seemed  but  a  gaudy  tomb  the  more. 


I  thought  of  what  one  might  have  hoped 

From  Greek  and  Roman  power  combined, 
From  strength,  that  with  a  world  had  coped. 

Matched  to  the  queen  of  human  mind ; — 
From  all  the  \nsdom,  might,  and  grace, 

That  Fancy's  gods  to  man  had  given. 
Blent  in  one  empire  and  one  race. 

By  the  true  faith  in  Christ  and  Heaven. 


136  PALM  LEAVES. 


The  finest  webs  of  earthly  fate 

Are  soonest  and  most  harshly  torn  ; 
The  wise  could  scarce  discriminate 

That  evening  splendour  from  the  morn  ; 
Though  we,  sad  students  of  the  past, 

Can  trace  the  lurid  twilight  line 
That  lies  between  the  first  and  last, 

Who  bore  the  name  of  Constantine. 


Such  were  my  thoughts  and  such  the  scene, 

When  I  perceived  that  by  me  stood 
A  Grecian  youth  of  earnest  mien. 

Well-suiting  my  reflective  mood  : 
And  when  he  spoke,  his  words  were  tuned 

Harmonious  to  my  present  mind, 
As  if  his  spirit  had  communed 

With  mine,  while  I  had  there  reclined. 


"  Stranger  !  whose  soul  has  strength  to  soar 

Beyond  the  compass  of  the  eye, 
And  on  a  spot  like  this  can  more 

Than  charms  of  form  and  hue  descry, — 
Take  off  this  mask  of  beauty, — scan 

The  face  of  things  with  truth  severe. 
Think,  as  becomes  a  Christian  man. 

Of  us  thy  Christian  brethren  lierc  ! 


rilE   GREEK  A  T  CONSTANTINOPLE.         137 

"  Think  of  that  age's  awful  birth, 

When  Europe  echoed,  terror-riven, 
That  a  new  foot  was  on  the  earth. 

And  a  new  name  came  down  from  Heaven  : 
When  over  Calpe's  straits  and  steeps 

The  Moor  had  bridged  his  royal  road, 
And  Othman's  sons  from  Asia's  deeps 

The  conquests  of  the  Cross  o'erflowed. 

"  Think,  if  the  ami  of  Charles  Martel 

Had  failed  upon  the  plain  of  Tours, 
The  fate,  whose  course  you  know  so  well, 

This  foul  subjection  had  been  yours  : 
Where  then  had  been  the  long  renown 

France  can  from  sire  to  son  deliver  ? 
Where  English  freedom  rolling  do\\Ti, 

One  widening,  one  continuous,  river  ? 

"  Think  with  what  passionate  delight 

The  tale  was  told  in  Christian  halls, 
How  Sobieski  turned  to  flight 

The  Muslim  from  Vienna's  walls  : 
How,  when  his  horse  triumphant  trod 

The  burgher's  richest  robes  upon, 
The  ancient  words  rose  loud — '  From  God 

A  man  was  sent  whose  name  was  John.'  " 

*  Historical. 


138  PALM  LEAVES. 


"  Think  not  that  time  can  ever  give 

Prescription  to  such  doom  as  ours, 
That  Grecian  hearts  can  ever  live 

Contented  serfs  of  barbarous  powers  : 
More  than  six  hundred  years  had  past, 

Since  Moorish  hosts  could  Spain  o'envhelm, 
Yet  Boabdil  was  thrust  at  last, 

Lamenting,  from  Grenada's  realm. 

"  And  if  to  his  old  Asian  seat, 

From  this  usuq^ed  unnatural  throne, 
The  Turk  is  driven,  'tis  surely  meet 

That  we  again  should  hold  our  own  : 
Be  but  Byzantium's  native  sign 

Of  Cross  on  Crescent  *  once  unfurled. 
And  Greece  shall  guard  by  right  divine 

The  portals  of  the  Eastern  world. 

"  Before  the  small  Athenian  band 
The  Persian  myriads  stood  at  bay, 

The  spacious  East  lay  down  unmanned 
Beneath  the  Macedonian's  sway  : 

Alas  !  that  Greek  could  turn  on  Greek — 
Fountain  of  all  our  woes  and  shame — 


*  The  Turks  adopted  the  sign  of  the  Crescent  from  Byzantium  after  the 
conquest :  the  Cross  above  the  Crescent  is  found  on  many  ruins  of  the  Gre- 
cian city ;  among  others,  on  the  Genoese  castle  on  the  Bosphorus.  The  Virgin 
standing  on  the  Crescent  is  another  common  sign. 


THE   GREEK  AT  CONSTANTINOPLE.         139 


Till  men  knew  scarcely  where  to  seek 
The  fragments  of  the  Grecian  name. 

"  Know  ye  the  Romans  of  the  North  : 

The  fearful  race  whose  infant  strength 
Stretches  its  arms  of  conquest  forth, 

To  grasp  the  world  in  breadth  and  length  ? 
They  cry  '  That  ye  and  we  are  old, 

And  worn  with  luxuries  and  cares, 
And  they  alone  are  fresh  and  bold. 

Time's  latest  and  most  honoured  heirs  I 

"  Alas  for  you  !  alas  for  us  ! 

Alas  for  men  that  think  and  feel, 
If  once  beside  this  Bosphorus 

Shall  stamp  Sclavonia's  frozen  heel  ! 
Oh  !  place  us  boldly  in  the  van. 

And  ere  we  yield  this  narrow  sea, 
The  past  shall  hold  within  its  span 

At  least  one  more  Thermopylae." 


140  PALM  LEA  VES. 


THE   TURK  AT   CONSTANTINOPLE 
TO    THE   FRANK. 

When  first  the  Prophet's  standard  rested  on 

The  land  that  once  was  Greece  and  still  was  Rome ; 

We  deemed  that  his  and  our  dominion 

Was  there  as  sure  as  in  our  Eastern  home  : 

We  never  thought  a  single  hour  to  pause 

Till  the  wide  West  had  owned  Mohammed's  laws. 


How  could  Ave  doubt  it  ?     To  one  desert  tribe 
The  truth  revealed  by  one  plain-seeming  man 
Cut  off  the  cavil,  thundered  down  the  gibe, 
And  formed  a  nation  to  its  lofty  plan  : 
What  barrier  could  its  wave  of  victory  stem  ? 
Not  thy  religious  walls,  Jerusalem  ! 


The  impious  wars  that  stained  the  faithful  host, 
Might  for  some  years  the  ripe  success  delay  ; 
But  when  we  once  stood  firm  on  Europe's  coast, 
'Twas  as  the  dawning  of  that  final  day, 
That  could  not  close  till  Islam's  flag  was  furled 
O'er  the  last  ruins  of  the  Roman  world. 


THE    TURK  AT  CONSTANTINOPLE.  141 


For  Histoty  is  not  silent  what  we  did, 

Long  ere  we  crushed  to  dust  the  Grecian  name  : 

It  was  no  Western  to  whom  Bajazid 

Surrendered  his  long  heritage  of  fame  ; 

The  shame  of  Hungary  was  not  less  sure, 

Because  your  victor  crouched  before  Timour. 

Hard  was  the  penalty  of  broken  faith, 

By  Lladislaus  paid  on  Varna's  plain  :* 

For  many  a  Knight  there  met  unhonoured  death, 

^Vhen,  like  a  god  of  vengeance,  rose  again 

Old  Amurath  from  his  far  home  and  cried, 

"Now  Jesus  combats  on  Mohammed's  side!" 

Nor  was  the  mission  of  our  Master  stayed, 
When  seated  safe  on  this  imperial  throne ; 
^Vitness  the  wonders  wTought  before  Belgrade,t 
The  fields  whose  very  loss  none  blushed  to  own ; 
Witness  St.  John's  proud  island-chevaliers,  :|: 
Thrust  from  their  lordship  of  two  hundred  years. 

Thus  did  we  justify  the  Faith  by  Works  : 
And  the  bright  Crescent  haunted  Europe's  eye, 

*  A.D.  1444.  A  copy  of  the  treaty,  the  monument  of  Christian  perfidy 
had  been  displayed  in  the  front  of  battle  ;  and  it  is  said  that  the  Sultan,  in 
his  distress,  lifting  his  eyes  and  his  hands  to  heaven,  implored  the  protection 
of  the  God  of  Truth,  and  called  on  the  prophet  Jesus  himself,  to  avenge  the 
impious  mockery  of  his  name  and  religion. — Gibbon,  chap.  Ixvii. 

t  A.D.  1456,  when  defended  by  John  Hunikdes. 

X  Knights  of  Rhodes. 


142  PALM  LEAVES. 


Till  many  a  Pope  believed  the  demon  Turks 
Would  scour  the  Vatican,  ere  he  could  die  : 
Why  was  our  arm  of  conquest  shortened  ?  A\'hy  ? 
Ask  him  whose  will  is  o'er  us,  like  the  sky. 

The  dome  to  heavenly  wisdom '"'  consecrate 
Still  echoes  with  the  Muslim's  fervent  prayers  ; 
The  just  successor  of  the  Khaleefate 
Still  on  his  brow  the  sign  of  empire  wears; 
We  hold  our  wealth  without  reserve  or  fear ; 
And  yet  we  know  we  are  but  tented  here. 

Millions  of  Christians  bend  beneath  our  rule. 

And  yet  these  realms  are  neither  theirs  nor  ours, 

Sultan  and  subject  are  alike  the  tool 

Of  Europe's  ready  guile  or  banded  powers  ; 

Against  the  lords  of  continent  and  sea 

What  can  one  nation  do,  one  people  be  ? 

Therefore  regardless  of  the  moment's  shame, 
Of  wives'  disdain,  and  children's  thoughtless  woe. 
Of  Christian  triumph  o'er  the  Prophet's  name. 
Of  Russia's  smile  beneath  her  mask  of  snow  : 
Let  us  return  to  Asia's  fair  domain, 
Let  us  in  truth  possess  the  East  again  ! 

*  Hagia  Sophia. 


THE    TURK  AT  CONSTANTINOPLE.  143 

?klen  of  the  West !   "  Ye  understand  us  not, 
We  you  no  more  :  ye  take  our  good  for  ill ; 
Ye  scorn  what  wo.  esteem  man's  happiest  lot — 
Perfect  submission  to  creative  will  3 
Ye  would  rejoice  to  Avatch  from  us  depart 
Our  ancient  temperance — our  peace  of  heart. 


Let  us  return  !  if  long  we  linger  here 
Ye  will  destroy  us,  not  with  open  swords, 
Not  with  such  arms  as  brave  men  must  not  fear. 
But  with  the  poison'd  shafts  of  subtle  words  : 
Your  blank  indifference  for  our  living  creed 
Would  make  us  paltry  Infidels  indeed. 


A\'Tiat  can  Ye  give  us  for  a  Faith  so  lost  ? 
For  love  of  Duty,  and  delight  in  Prayer  ? 
How  are  we  wiser  that  our  minds  are  tost 
By  winds  of  knowledge  on  a  sea  of  care  ? 
How  are  we  better  that  we  hardly  fear 
To  break  the  laws  our  fathers  held  most  dear  ? 


Aping  your  customs  we  have  changed  e'en  now 
The  noble  garb  in  nature's  Avisdom  given. 
And  turban  that,  on  every  Muslim's  brow, 
Was  as  a  crown  at  once  for  earth  and  heaven  :— 


144  PALM  LEA  VES. 


The  sword  with  which  the  sire  Byzantium  won 
Sleeps  in  yon  deej)  unwielded  by  the  son."' 

Let  us  return  !  across  the  fatal  strait 

Our  Father's  shadows  welcome  us  once  more ; 

Back  to  the  glories  of  the  Khaleefate, 

Back  to  the  faith  we  loved,  the  dress  we  wore, 

^Vl•len  in  one  age  the  world  could  well  contain 

Haroon  Er-Rasheed  and  your  Charlemagne  ! 

*  The  sword  of  Mohammed  the  Second,  worn  at  the  conquest  of  Constan- 
tinople, had  always  been  religiously  preserved  in  a  mosque  untainted  by  the 
foot  of  the  Infidel.  The  late  Sultan  put  it  on,  the  day  he  went  to  visit  the 
large  man-of-war  which  bears  his  name,  when  first  completed  :  on  mounting 
the  ship's  side,  the  sword,  which  was  a  small  short  one,  got  detached,  and 
fell  into  the  strait,  lost  irrecoverably ; — this  was  regarded  at  the  time  as  a  most 
unhappy  omen. 


THE  HAREEM.  145 


THE    HAREEM.*       ■ 

Behind  the  veil,  where  depth  is  traced 

By  many  a  complicated  line, — 
Behind  the  lattice  closely  laced 

With  filagree  of  choice  design, — 
Behind  the  lofty  garden-wall, 

Where  stranger  face  can  ne'er  surprise, — 
That  inner  world  her  all-in-all, 

The  Eastern  Woman  lives  and  dies. 

Husband  and  children  round  her  draw 

The  narrow  circle  where  she  rests  ; 
His  will  the  single  perfect  law, 

That  scarce  with  choice  her  mind  molests; 
Their  birth  and  tutelage  the  ground 

And  meaning  of  her  life  on  earth — 
She  knows  not  elsewhere  could  be  found 

The  measure  of  a  woman's  worth. 

If  young  and  beautiful,  she  dwells 

An  Idol  in  a  secret  shrine, 
Where  one  high-priest  alone  dispels 

The  solitude  of  chamis  divine  : 

*  In  the  general  confusion  of  the  orthography  of  Eastern  words,  I  have 
usually  adopted  Mr.  Lane's. 

VOL.    I.  L 


146  PALM  LEAVES. 


And  in  his  happiness  she  hves, 
And  in  his  honour  has  her  own, 

And  dreams  not  that  the  love  she  gives 
Can  be  too  much  for  him  alone. 

Within  the  gay  kiosk  reclined, 

Above  the  scent  of  lemon  groves. 
Where  bubbling  fountains  kiss  the  wind, 

And  birds  make  music  to  their  loves,-;— 
She  lives  a  kind  of  faery  life, 

In  sisterhood  of  fruits  and  flowers. 
Unconscious  of  the  outer  strife. 

That  wears  the  palpitating  hours. 

And  when  maturer  duties  rise 

In  pleasure's  and  in  pjassion's  place, 
Her  duteous  loyalty  supplies 

The  presence  of  departed  grace  : 
So  hopes  she,  by  untiring  truth, 

To  win  the  bliss  to  share  with  him, 
Tliose  glories  of  celestial  youth. 

That  time  can  never  taint  or  dim/'' 

Thus  in  the  ever-closed  Hareem, 
As  in  the  open  \\'estern  home, 


•  It  is  supposeJ  to  be  k-ft  to  the  will  of  the  husband  to  decide  whether  his 
■wife  should  be  united  to  him  in  a  future  state  :  but  this  does  not  imply  that 
her  happiness  aftc  death  depends  upon  him. 


THE   HA  RE  EM.  147 


Sheds  womanhood  her  starry  gleam 

Over  our  being's  busy  foam  ; 
Through  latitudes  of  varying  faith 

Thus  trace  we  still  her  mission  sure, 
To  lighten  life,  to  sweeten  death, 

And  all  for  others  to  endure. 

Home  of  the  East  !  thy  threshold's  edge 

Checks  the  wild  foot  that  knows  no  fear. 
Yet  shrinks,  as  if  from  sacrilege — 

When  rapine  comes  thy  precincts  near  : 
Existence,  whose  precarious  thread 

Hangs  on  the  tyrant's  mood  and  nod, 
Beneath  thy  roof  its  anxious  head 

Rests  as  within  the  house  of  God. 

There,  though  without  he  feels  a  slave, 

Compelled  another's  will  to  scan, 
Another's  fa^•our  forced  to  crave 

There  is  the  subject  still  the  man  : 
There  is  the  form  that  none  but  he 

Can  touch, — the  face  that  he  alone 
Of  living  men  has  right  to  see  ; — 

Not  He  who  fills  the  Prophet's  throne. 

Then  let  the  Moralist,  who  best 

Honours  the  female  heart,  that  blends 

L  2 


148  PALM  LEAVES. 


The  deep  affections  of  the  West 

With  thought  of  life's  sublimest  ends, 

Ne'er  to  the  Eastern  home  deny 
Its  lesser,  yet  not  humble  praise, 

To  guard  one  pure  humanity 
Amid  the  stains  of  evil  days. 


THE  MOSQUE,  I49 


THE    MOSQUE. 

A  SIMPLE  unpartitioned  room, — 
Surmounted  by  an  ample  dome, 
Or,  in  some  lands  that  favoured  lie, 
With  centre  open  to  the  sky, 
But  roofed  with  arched  cloisters  round, 
That  mark  the  consecrated  bound. 
And  shade  the  niche  to  Mekkeh  turned, 
By  which  two  massive  lights  are  burned ; 
With  pul[)it  whence  the  sacred  word 
Expounded  on  great  days  is  heard ; 
With  fountain  fresh,  where,  ere  they  pray, 
Men  wasli  the  soil  of  earth  away  ; 
With  shining  minaret,  thin  and  high. 
From  whose  fine-trelliced  balcony 
Announcement  of  the  hours  of  prayer 
Is  uttered  to  the  silent  air  ; 
Such  is  the  Mosque — the  holy  place, 
Where  faithful  men  of  every  race, 
Meet  at  their  case,  and  face  to  face. 

Not  that  the  power  of  God  is  here 
More  manifest,  or  more  to  fear  ; 
Not  that  the  glory  of  his  face 
Is  circumscribed  by  any  space; 


ISO  PALM  LEAVES. 


But  that,  as  men  are  wont  to  meet 
In  court  or  chamber,  mart  or  street, 
For  purposes  of  gain  or  pleasure, 
For  friendhness  or  social  leisure, — 
So,  for  the  greatest  of  all  ends 
To  Avhich  intelligence  extends. 
The  worship  of  the  Lord,  whose  will 
Created  and  sustains  us  still. 
And  honour  of  the  Prophet's  name, 
By  ^vhom  the  saving  message  came, 
Believers  meet  together  here. 
And  hold  these  precincts  verj-  dear. 

The  floor  is  spread  with  matting  neat. 
Unstained  by  touch  of  shodden  feet — 
A  decent  and  delightful  seat ! 
Where,  after  due  devotions  paid, 
And  legal  ordinance  obeyed. 
Men  may  in  happy  parlance  join, 
And  gay  with  serious  thought  combine  ; 
May  ask  the  news  from  lands  away, 
May  fix  the  business  of  to-day  ; 
Or,  with  "  God-willing,"  at  the  close. 
To-morrow's  hopes  and  deeds  dispose. 

Children  are  running  in  and  out 
With  silver-sounding  laugh  and  shout, 


THE  MOSQUE.  151 


No  more  disturbed  in  their  sweet  play, 
No  more  disturbing  those  that  pray, 
Than  the  poor  birds,  that  fluttering  ily 
Among  the  rafters  there  on  high, 
Or  seek  at  times,  with  grateful  hyp. 
The  com  fresh-sprinkled  on  the  top. 


So  lest  the  strangers  scornful  eys 
Should  hurt  this  sacred  family, — 
Lest  inconsiderate  words  should  wound 
Devout  adorers  with  their  sound,— 
Lest  careless  feet  should  stain  the  floor 
With  dirt  and  dust  from  out  the  door, — 
'Tis  well  that  custom  should  protect 
The  place  with  prudence  circumspect. 
And  let  no  unbeliever  pass 
The  threshold  of  the  faithful  mass  ; 
That  as  each  Muslim  his  Hareem 
Guards  even  from  a  jealous  dream, 
So  should  no  alien  feeling  scathe 
This  common  home  of  public  faith, 
So  should  its  very  name  dispel 
The  presence  of  the  infidel. 

*  Many  of  the  mosques  possess  funds  dedicated  to  the  support  of  birds  and 
other  animals  :  one  at  Cairo  has  a  large  boat  at  the  top  filled  with  corn  as  fast 
as  it  is  consumed,  and  another  possessed  an  estate  bequeathed  to  it  to  give 
food  to  the  homeless  cats  of  the  city.  Most  of  these  funds  have,  however,  now 
passed,  with  those  of  higher  charities,  into  Mehemet  Ali's  own  pocket.  . 


152  PALM  LEA  VES. 


Yet,  though  such  reverence  may  demand 
A  building  raised  by  human  hand, 
Most  honour  to  the  men  of  prayer, 
Whose  mosque  is  in  them  everywhere  ! 
Who,  amid  revel's  wildest  din, 
In  war's  severest  discipline, 
On  rolling  deck,  in  thronged  bazaar, 
In  stranger  lands,  however  far, 
However  different  in  their  reach 
Of  thought,  in  manners,  dress,  or  speech, — 
Will  quietly  their  carpet  spread. 
To  Mekkeh  turn  the  humble  head, 
And,  as  if  blind  to  all  around, 
And  deaf  to  each  distracting  sound, 
In  ritual  language  God  adore, 
In  spirit  to  his  presence  soar, 
And,  in  the  pauses  of  the  prayer, 
Rest,  as  if  rapt  in  glor)-'  there  ! 


MO  HA  MMEDA  NISM.  1 5  3 


MOHAMMEDANISM. 

While  the  high  truths  to  man  in  Christ  revealed 

Were  met  by  early  foes, 
Who  oft  assault  by  strategy  concealed, 

And  oft  in  force  arose ; 

While  Pagan  fancy  would  not  lay  aside 

Her  pleasurable  faith, 
At  call  of  one  who  lived  in  that  he  died. 

And  preached  that  Life  was  Death ; 

And  while  philosophy  with  old  belief 

Blent  fragments  of  the  new, 
Though  every  master  held  himself  the  chief 

Discemer  of  the  true  ; 

In  that  convulsion  and  distress  of  thought, 

Th'  Idea  that  long  ago 
Had  ruled  the  Hebrew  mind  occasion  caught 

To  strike  a  final  blow. 

In  the  fresh  passions  of  a  vigorous  race 

Was  so\\Ti  a  living  seed. 
Strong  these  contending  mysteries  to  displace 

By  one  plain  ancient  creed. 


154  PALM  LEAVES. 


Thus  in  a  life  and  land,  such  as  of  old 

The  Patriarch  name  begot, 
Rose  a  new  Prophet,  simple  to  behold, 

Cast  in  a  humble  lot  ; 

"Who  in  the  wild  requirements  of  his  state 

Let  half  his  life  go  by. 
And  then  stood  up  a  man  of  faith  and  fate, 

That  could  the  world  defy. 

God  and  his  Prophets,  and  the  final  day. 
He  preached,  and  little  more, 

Resting  the  weight  of  all  he  had  to  say 
On  what  was  said  before."' 

He  bade  men  mark  the  fissureless  blue  slcy, 
The  streams  that  spring  and  run. 

The  clouds  that  with  regenerate  life  supply 
The  havoc  of  the  sun  : 

All  forms  of  life  profuse  and  different. 

The  camel  and  the  palm. 
To  them  for  sustenance  or  service  sent. 

And  wondrous  herbs  of  balm ; 


*  Mohammed  always  professes  to  be  renewing  old  truths,  not  to  be  reveal- 
ing new  ones  :  he  seems  to  be  always  wishing  to  restore  the  patriarchal  state 
of  thought  and  feeling,  with  the  addition  of  a  distinct  faith  in  a  future  life  and 
in  a  day  of  final  retribution. 


MOHAMMEDANISM.  1 55 


He  bade  them  mark  how  all  existence  comes 

From  one  Creative  will, 
As  well  the  bee  that  'mid  the  blossoms  hums, 

As  human  pride  and  skill. 

How  shadows  of  all  beings,  morn  and  even, 

Before  Him  humbly  bend, 
And,  willing  or  unwilling,  earth  and  heaven 

\Vork  out  His  solemn  end. 

Therefore  is  God  the  Universal  Power, 

The  Absolute,  the  One, — 
With  whom  a  thousand  years  are  as  an  hour, 

And  earth  as  moon  or  sun. 

And  shall  this  God  who  all  creation  fills 

His  creature  men  permit 
The  puny  fragments  of  their  mortal  wills 

Against  his  might  to  set  ? 

AMiat  wonderful  insanity  of  pride  ! 

With  objects  of  the  eye 
And  fanciful  devices  to  divide 

His  awful  monarchy. 

Can  vain  associates  "■  seated  on  His  throne. 
Command  the  only  Lord  ? 

*  The  frequent  recurrence  of  this  notion  evidently  applies  to  the  doctrine 
of  the  Trinity  anJ  the  worship  of  the  Virgin  as  much  as  to  that  of  Idols;  it 


156  PALM  LEAVES. 


\Vhat  strength  have  they  but  flows  from  Him  alone. 
Adorers  or  adored  ? 

Hew  down  the  Idols  :  prayer  is  due  to  Power, — ■ 

But  these  are  weak  and  frail : 
— By  men  and  angels  every  living  hour 

Father,  Creator,  hail ! 

So  preached  of  God  Mohammed,  of  himself 

He  spoke  in  lowly  words. 
As  one  who  wanted  not  or  power  or  pelf. 

Or  more  than  God  affords  ;  * 

As  a  poor  bearer  with  the  message  sent 

Of  God's  majestic  will. 
In  his  whole  being  resolutely  bent 

That  mission  to  fulfil. 

The  miracles  to  which  he  oft  appealed 

Were  Nature's,  not  his  own. 
Teaching  that  God  was  every^vhere  revealed — 

Not  in  His  words  alone. 


is  singular  that  Mrhammed  considers  the  two  as  equally  common  to  all 
Christians  ;  it  has  been  suggested  that  the  sect  of  Collyridians,  who  used  to 
sacrifice  cakes  (ycoAAvpiSfs)  '"  •''t-  Mary,  had  come  prominently  under  his 
notice  :  this  is  unlikely  and  unnecessary ;  the  mere  title  of  the  Mother  of 
God  was  enough  to  excite  his  hostility,  as  that  of  the  Son  did  ;  and  his  was 
not  the  mind  to  make  the  philosophical  distinction. 

♦  I  ask  for  no  payment ;  I  am  paid  at  the  hand  of  God— the  Master  of  the 
universe.     Kurun,  chap.  xxvi.  ver.  log. 


MO  II A  MMEDAXISM.  157 

No  Poet  he,  weaving  capricious  dreams, 

To  please  inconstant  youth, 
But  one  who  uttered,  without  shows  and  seems, 

The  serious  facts  of  truth ; 

And  threats  and  promises,  that  Hnc  by  Hne 

Were  parts  to  mortals  given 
Of  that  eternal  Book  of  thought  divine — 

The  Prototj'pe  in  heaven  : 

^A'hich  ever  and  anon  from  that  sad  dawn 

Of  sin  that  Adam  saw 
In  Pentateuch,  and  Gospel,  and  Kuran 

Enunciates  Allah's  law.* 

In  Noah,  Abraham,  IMoses,  Earth  beholds 

The  prophet  lineage  run, 
Down  till  the  fulness  of  due  time  unfolds 

Immaculate  Mary's  son.f 


*  The  archetype  or  "mother "of  all  these  sacred  books,  is  supposed  to 
have  existed  in  Heaven  from  the  beginning  of  things  :  thus  the  Prophet  al- 
ways speaks  of  the  Kuran  as  a  thing  completed  from  the  very  beginning : 
thus,  too,  every  verse  is  as  much  the  Kuran  as  the  whole  book.  This  ado- 
ration of  the  Word  has  had  a  peculiar  effect  on  the  Arabic  language, — every 
word  in  the  Kuran  being  declared,  as  a  matter  of  faith,  to  be  pure  Arabic, 
even  those  demonstrably  Persian.  The  copies  of  the  Kuran  printed  by  order 
of  Mahomet  AH  have  not  yet  been  sanctioned  by  the  ecclesiastical  authori- 
ties :  they  say,  "they  cannot  answer  for  the  errors  of  the  press,  some  of  them 
probably  intentional.  Infidels  being  occasionally  employed  in  the  work.  The 
copyists,  it  must  be  remembered,  are  a  strong  interest  in  the  East. 

t  Mohammed  seems  to  have  attached  so  little  importance  to  miraculous 
events — regarding  the  whole  world  as  one  incessant  miracle — that  his  recog- 


158  PALM  LEAVES. 

Whence  to  Arabia's  free  unlettered  child 
The  great  commission  past, — 

Mohammed,  the  Apostle  of  the  ^^'ild, 
The  purest  and  the  last. 


Thus  stood  he  wholly  in  reflected  light, 

Rejecting  other  claim 
To  power  or  honour  than  attends  of  right 

The  Apostolic  name. 


Yet  louder  still  he  preached  the  day  that  comes 

Unhastened,  undelayed. 
Fixed  to  consign  to  their  eternal  homes 

All  men  that  God  has  made  : 


nition  of  the  supernatural  birth  of  Christ  does  not  imply  any  acknowledgment 
of  his  divine  nature.  It  still  remains  a  subject  of  inquiry,  from  what  sources 
he  derived  his  notions  of  the  theory  of  Christianity,  or  the  person  of  its 
author.  Not,  probably,  frcm  books :  for  if  his  assertion  (chap.  .\.\ix.  v.  47) 
that  he  could  neither  read  nor  write  had  not  been  correct,  it  could  have  been 
disproved  by  many  persons  present,  who  had  known  him  from  his  youth  ; 
and  Toland's  theory  of  his  instruction  by  the  apocryphal  gospel  of  Barnabas 
has  been  put  an  end  to  by  the  discovery  of  the  forgery  of  that  work,  written 
with  the  very  intent  of  exciting  this  notion,  long  after  Mohammed's  era,  in 
Italy  or  Spain.  The  Syrian  monk,  Sergius,  is  a  rather  obscure  personage  : 
Mohammed  only  knew  him  in  his  early  days,  and  he  is  hardly  likely  to  have 
filled  the  mind  of  a  heathen  boy  with  strange  legends  and  peri'erted  facts. 
The  Christianity  of  the  Kuran  is,  in  all  probability,  the  Arabian  tradition  of 
that  time,  formed  out  of  the  recollections  of  the  doctrine  which  spread  very 
early  into  Arabia,  but  did  not  meet  with  much  success  there,  and  the  rela- 
tions of  the  Nestorian  fugitives,  who  would  not  scruple  to  attribute  many 
corruptions  to  the  orthodox  body.  The  Infancy,  and  other  apocryphal  gos" 
peis,  are  derived  from  a  similar  source,  and  hence  their  frequent  coincidence 
with  Mohammedan  notions. 


MOHAMMEDANISM.  159 

The  day  when  children  shall  grow  gray  with  fear, 

And,  like  a  ball  of  sand, 
God  shall  take  up  this  our  terrestrial  sphere, 

In  the  hollow  of  his  hand ; 

When  without  intercessor,  friend,  or  kin, 

Each  man  shall  stand  alone," 
Before  his  judge,  and,  once  for  ever,  win 

A  prison  or  a  throne. 

The  Unbeliever  in  his  agony 

Shall  seek  in  whom  to  trust. 
And  when  his  idols  help  him  not,  shall  cry 

''  O  God  :  that  I  were  dust ! " 

Before  the  Faithful,  as  their  troops  arise, 

A  glorious  light  shall  play, 
And  angels  herald  them  to  Paradise, 

To  bliss  without  decay ; 

Gardens  of  green,  that  pales  not  in  the  sun, 

And  ever-budding  flowers  ; 
Rivers  that  cool  in  brightest  noon-day  run, 

Xor  need  the  shade  of  bowers  3 

*  "All  shall  appear  before  him  on  the  day  of  resurrection,  ^is^aloite." 
Chap.  xLx.  V.  95. 


i6o  PALM  LEAVES. 


Seats  of  high  honour  and  supreme  repose, 

To  which  the  laden  trees 
Bend  at  desire,  and  every  hour  disclose 

Fresh  tastes  and  fragrances ; 

Deep  cups  of  wine  that  bring  no  after-pain 

By  angel-children  plied, 
And  love  without  satiety  or  stain 

For  bridegroom  or  for  bride. 

While  yet  a  purer  essence  of  delight 

Awaits  the  bolder  few, 
That  plunge  their  being  in  the  Infinite, 

And  rise  to  life  anew.* 

Such  was  the  guise  of  Truth  that  on  its  front 

The  new  religion  wore. 
And  in  new  words  men  followed,  as  is  wont. 

Precepts  they  scorn'd  before. 

And  the  Faith  rose  from  families  to  tribes. 

From  tribes  to  nations  rose, 
And  open  enmities  and  ribald  gibes 

Grew  feeble  to  oppose. 

•  Oriental  mysticism  distinguishes  itself  from  Christian  by  the  predomi- 
nance of  the  sensual  character  :  it  is  the  rapture  of  the  soul,  the  ecstatic  in- 
terfusion of  pleasure  and  pain,  the  yearning  towards  the  absorption  of  self  in 
the  Infinite,  which  is  at  the  heart  of  the  spiritual  religion  of  the  East,  while 
with  us  there  is  much  more  sentiment,  and  a  variety  according  to  the  cha- 
racter of  the  individual,  unknowu  to  Oriental  Pantheism. 


MOHAMMEDANISM.  i6i 

"  Resigned  to  God  "  ■"' — this  name  the  Faithful  bore — 

This  simple,  noble  name ; 
And  reckoned  life  a  thing  of  little  store, 

A  transitory  game. 

Thus  was  Endurance  on  the  banner  writ 

That  led  the  Muslim  forth, 
And  wonder  not  that  they  who  follow  it 

Should  conquer  half  the  earth. 

AMiat  might  the  men  not  do,  who  thus  could  know 

No  fear  and  fear  no  loss  ? 
One  only  thing — they  could  not  overthrow 

The  kingdom  of  the  Cross. 

And  this,  because  it  held  an  element 

Beyond  their  spirits'  range, 
A  Truth  for  which  the  faith  they  represent 

Had  nothing  to  exchange. 

One  God  the  Arabian  Prophet  preached  to  man, 

One  God  the  Orient  still 
Adores  through  many  a  realm  of  mighty  span, 

A  God  of  Power  and  A\^ill — 

•  The  meaning  of  the  word  "Muslim  :"--"El  Islam"  also  signifies  "the 
resigning." 

vol..  1.  M 


l62  PALM  LEAVES. 


A  God  that  shrouded  in  His  lonely  light 

Rests  utterly  apart 
From  all  the  vast  Creations  of  His  might, 

From  Nature,  Man,  and  Art : — 

A  Being  in  whose  solitary  hand 

All  other  beings  weigh 
No  more  than  in  the  potter's  reckoning  stand 

The  workings  of  his  clay  : — 

A  Power  that  at  its  pleasure  will  create, 

To  save  or  to  destroy  ; 
And  to  eternal  pain  predestinate, 

As  to  eternal  joy : — * 

An  unconditioned,  irrespective,  will. 

Demanding  simple  awe, 
Beyond  all  principles  of  good  or  ill. 

Above  idea  of  law. 

No  doctrine  here  of  perfect  Love  divine, 

To  which  the  bounds  belong 
Only  of  that  unalterable  line 

Disparting  right  from  wrong  : — 

•  Mohammed  carries  out  the  doctrine  of  predestination  with  a  merciless 
logic — "  Would  you  force  men  to  become  believers?  How  can  a  soul  believe 
without  the  will  of  God?"  Chap.  x.  v.  99.  "  There  shall  be  a  great  number 
of  those  that  are  saved  among  the  ancient  peoples,  but  few  among  those  of 
modern  times."  Chap.  Ivi.  v.  13.  The  eternity  of  hell  does  not  seem  to  be 
doubted. 


MOHAMMEDANISM.  163 

A  love,  that,  while  it  must  not  regulate 

The  issues  of  free-will, 
By  its  own  sacrifice  can  expiate 

The  penalties  of  ill. 

No  message  here  ot  man  redeemed  from  sin, 

Of  fallen  nature  raised. 
By  inward  strife  and  moral  discipline, 

Higher  than  e'er  debased, — 

Of  the  immense  parental  heart  that  yearns 

From  highest  heaven  to  meet 
The  poorest  wandering  spirit  that  returns 

To  its  Creator's  feet. 

No  Prophet  here  by  common  essence  bound 

At  once  to  God  and  man, 
Author  Himself  and  part  of  the  profound 

And  providential  plan  : 

Himself  the  ensample  of  unuttered  worth, 

Himself  the  living  sign. 
How  by  God's  grace  the  fallen  sons  of  earth 

May  be  once  more  divine. 

— Thus  in  the  faiths  old  Heathendom  that  shook 

Were  different  powers  of  strife  \ 
Mohammed's  truth  lay  in  a  holy  Book, 

Christ's  in  a  sacred  Life. 


1 64  PALM  LEAVES. 


So,  while  the  A\'orld  rolls  on  from  change  to  change. 

And  realms  of  thought  expand, 
The  Letter  stands  without  expanse  or  range, 

Stiff  as  a  dead  man's  hand  ;  • 

While,  as  the  life-blood  fills  the  growing  form. 

The  Spirit  Christ  has  shed 
Flows  through  the  ripening  ages  fresh  and  wann, 

More  felt  than  heard  or  read. 

And  therefore,  though  ancestral  sympathies. 

And  closest  ties  of  race, 
May  guard  Mohammed's  precept  and  decrees, 

Through  many  a  tract  of  space. 

Yet  in  the  end  the  tight-drawn  line  must  break. 

The  sapless  tree  must  fall. 
Nor  let  the  form  one  time  did  well  to  take 

Be  tyrant  over  all. 

The  tide  of  things  rolls  forward,  surge  on  surge. 

Bringing  the  blessed  hour. 
When  in  Himself  the  God  of  Love  shall  merge 

The  God  of  Will  and  Power. 


THE  SONG  OF  THE    WAHABEES.  165 


THE  SONG    OF    THE    WAHABEES. 

These  Protestants  of  Mohammedanism  owe  their  origin  to  the  Sheykh 
Mohammed  Ibn-Abd-El-Wahhab,  who  fciunded  or  incorporated  them  into  a 
religion  and  political  sect  in  1745.  They  professed  to  restore  Islam  to  its 
primitive  purity,  and  to  establish  an  ascetic  morality  throughout  its  followers. 
Like  some  other  religious  Reformers,  they  committed  great  devastation  in 
places  reputed  holy,  and  gratified  by  the  same  acts  their  hatred  of  supersti- 
tion and  their  love  of  gain.  They  forbade  all  luxury  in  dress  and  habits  of 
life,  and  even  interdicted  the  use  of  the  pipe— almost  a  necessary  of  existence 
to  the  (Oriental.  The  attention  of  the  Porte  was  not  long  ago  directed  to  their 
increasing  power  in  Arabia  and  the  molestations  they  offered  to  the  pilgrims 
to  the  Holy  Cities  ;  and  the  present  Pasha  of  Egypt,  after  many  losses  and 
repulses,  succeeded  in  completely  subduing  them.  Individuals  of  these  tenets 
are  still  occasionally  to  be  met  with,  but  it  is  very  difficult  to  draw  from  them 
any  information  or  acknowledgment. 

W'e  will  not  that  the  truth  of  God  by  prophets  brought 

to  earth 
Shall  be  o'crlaid  by  dreams  and  thoughts  of  none  or 

little  worth  ; 
^^'e  will  not  that  the  noblest  Man,  that  ever  lived  and 

died, 
Should  be  for  canting,  cozening,  Saints  *  in  reverence 

set  aside. 


•  The  whole  notion  of  Hagiology  is  totally  at  variance  with  the  original 
idea  of  Islam :  nevertheless  there  is  no  city  without  its  mosque,  sanctified  by 
the  relics  of  the  Prophet  or  his  family,  and  hardly  a  district  without  the  tomb 
of  its  local  Saint.  Part  of  the  dress  of  the  Prophet  is  yearly  soaked  in  a  large 
quantity  of  water,  which  is  bottled  into  small  vials,  and  sent  to  all  the  great 
dignitaries  of  the  Empire.  So  vain  have  been  the  Prophet's  efforts  to  estab- 
lish a  practical  Monotheism. 


1 66  PALM  LEAVES. 


While  God  was  uttering  through  his  Hps,  and  writing 
through  his  pen, 

Mohammed  took  his  lot  with  us,  a  man  Avith  other 
men  ; 

And  thus  in  our  due  love  to  him,  and  awe  for  God 
alone, 

We  bless  his  memory  as  the  chest  that  holds  the  pre- 
cious stone. 

So,  though  'tis  well  that  where  entombed,   his  holy 

body  lies, 
Praises  and  prayers  from  faithful   crowds  to  Allah's 

name  should  rise. 
The  best  of  Mosques  is  still  the  tent  where  earnest 

Muslims  meet, 
The  best  of  Minarets  is  the  rock  that  desert  tempests 

beat. 

We  all  have  Mekkeh  in  our  hearts,  who  speak  and  act 

the  truth ;  * 
We  all  are  Saints  who  read  the  Book  and  Avorship 

from  our  youth. 
Men  are  no  hai;i)ier  than  they  were  for  all  El-Azhar's 

lore,f 
And  if  our  Faith  wins  Paradise,  can  knowledge  win  us 

more  ? 

*  The  Wahahees  allowed  a  certain  veneration  for  Mekkeh,  as  Protestant- 
ism permits  for  Jerusalem,  but  discouraged  pilgrimages  generally, 
■f  The  great  college  at  Ca'iro,  the  Oxford  of  Arabia. 


THE  SONG  OF  THE    WAHABEES.  167 

Wc  will  not  that  the  gifts  of  God,  so  good  when  used 

aright, 
Should  leave  their  wholesome  natural  ends  and  turn 

to  His  despite ; 
That  men  should  change  the  sweetest  flowers  to  bitter 

poison  weeds  : 
The  Book  has  said  that  "  everyone  is  hostage  for  his 

deeds."  * 

Man  should  be  man  ;  the  world  is  his  to  conquer  and 

command, 
Xo  i)ipe  or  downy  bed  for  him,  but  horse  and  sword 

in  hand ; 
Let  they  who  will  consume  their  lives  in  joys  of  vicious 

ease, — 
The  Prophet's  word  will  scarce  prevail  with  Preachers 

such  as  these. 

Let  women  love  Damascus  silk,  give  us  Damascus 
blades. 

The  shawls  of  rich  Cashmere  look  best  on  our  Circas- 
sian maids ; 

^Ve  wear  the  homely  woollen  woof,  such  as  Mohammed 
wore, 

Nor  steal  from  herbs  the  drunken  dreams  that  he  with 
wine  forswore. 

*  Kurun,  chap.  lii.  v.  21. 


I68  PALM  LEAVES. 


We  know  that  time  is  worst  than  lost,  which  is  not 

used  for  gain, 
For  Life  is  not  a  jest,  and  God  will  not  create  in 

vain, — 
And  thus  we  Avill  not  rest  while  earth  has  idols  still  to 

fall ; 
Till  Islam  is  indeed  Islam,  and  Allah  God  for  all  ! 


i| 


ARABIAN    LEGENDS. 


THE   PRIDE   OF   NIMROD. 

''  Thou  art  King  of  all  the  nations, — 

They  are  thine  to  take  or  give, — 
We  are  but  thy  will's  creations, — 

In  thy  breath  we  die  or  live." 
So  the  ser\ale  courtiers  chanted, 

But  the  t}Tant's  heart  replied 
That  some  stronger  food  was  wanted 

To  content  his  swollen  pride. 

Now,  behold,  the  myriads  gather 

Round  him, — work  as  he  may  bid, 
To  invade  God's  realm  of  cether 

By  the  Babel  pyramid  : 
God  the  pitiful  intrusion 

Checks  not  by  his  lightning  hand. 
But  imposing  and  confusion 

Frustrates  every  proud  command. 

Allah  then  in  arms  defying,* 
See  the  t}Tant's  golden  car, 

*  The  Kuran  makes  Pharaoh  also  build  a  huge  tower  to  scale  heaven  with  ; 


I70  ARABIAN  LEGENDS. 

With  four  harnessed  eagles,  flying 
Upward,  through  the  air  afar  : 

Now  he  glows  in  rage  delighted, 
Thinks  he  grasps  Jehovah's  throne, 

But  that  instant  falls  benighted 
On  a  desert  rock  alone. 

Hear,  Believers  !  hear  with  wonder 

How,  at  last,  God's  vengeance  came  ; 
Not  in  tempest,  not  in  thunder, 

Not  in  pestilence  or  flame  ; 
One  of  Nature's  meanest  features, 

Hardly  to  your  vision  clear, 
Least  of  tiny  insect  creatures, 

Crept  into  the  Tyrant's  ear. 

There  its  subtle  life  it  nested 

In  the  tissues  of  his  brain, 
And  the  anguish  never  rested. 

And  his  being  turned  to  pain  : 
Thus  four  hundred  years  tormented. 

Nature's  God  he  learnt  to  know, 
Yet  his  pride  was  unrepented. 

And  he  sunk  to  endless  woe  ! 


Pharaoh  ascended  it  when  completed,  and  having  thrown  a  javelin  upwards, 
which  fell  brick  again  stained  with  blood,  boasted  he  had  killed  the  God  of 
Moses;  but  Gabriel,  at  one  brush  of  his  wing,  demolished  the  tower,  which 
fell,  crushing  a  million  of  men. 


ABRAHAM  AND  HIS   GODS.  171 


II. 
ABRAHAM   AND    HIS   GODS. 

Abraham  is  the  great  Tatriarch  of  Arabia  ;  he  is  declared  by  Mohammed 
to  be  neither  a  Jew  nor  a  Christian,  but  a  Muslim  and  the  friend  of  Ood. 
The  great  idol  of  red  agate,  with  a  golden  hand  holding  seven  divining 
arrows,  which  Mohammed  destroyed  in  the  Kaabeh,  after  his  capture  of 
Mekkeh,  is  supposed  to  have  been  a  representation  of  Abraham.  The  Black 
Stone  set  in  silver,  which  the  Prophet  left  there,  and  which  has  remained  an 
object  of  idolatrous  homage,  is  said  to  be  one  of  the  precious  stones  of  Para- 
dise, and  to  have  been  brought  by  the  angel  Gabriel  to  Abraham,  when  he 
was  rebuilding  the  Kaabeh.  The  Books  of  Abraham  are  spoken  of  with 
those  of  INIoses,  chap.  Ixxxvii.  v.  19 ;  the  KiiKin  is  full  of  him  :  Mohammed 
seems,  whether  intentionally  or  not,  to  have  fused  his  character  into  his  own  ; 
he  makes  Abraham  speak  as  himself,  and  he  himself  speaks  in  the  person  of 
the  Patriarch.  The  following  story  expresses  either  the  process  of  Abraham's 
reasoning  with  himself,  or  was  used,  by  way  of  argument,  to  convince  the 
idolaters  among  whom  he  lived.  Josephus  (lib.  i.  cap.  8)  WTites  of  Abraham, 
"  that  he  was  the  first  that  ventured  to  publish  this  notion,  that  there  was  but 
one  God,  the  Creator  of  the  Universe,  and  that,  as  to  other  gods,  if  they  con- 
tributed anytliing  to  the  happiness  of  man,  each  of  them  afford  it  only  accord- 
ing to  his  appointment,  and  not  by  their  own  power ;  this  his  opinion  was 
derived  from  the  irregular  phenomena  that  were  visible  both  at  land  and  sea, 
as  well  as  those  that  happen  to  the  sun  and  moon,  and  all  the  heavenly 
bodies." 

Beneath  the  full-eyed  Syrian  moon, 

The  Patriarch,  lost  in  reverence,  raised 
His  consecrated  head,  and  soon 

He  knelt,  and  worshipped  while  he  gazed  : 
"  Surely  that  glorious  Orb  on  high 
Must  be  the  Lord  of  earth  and  sky 


I 


Slowly  towards  its  central  throne 

The  glory  rose,  yet  paused  not  there, 


172  ARABIAN  LEGENDS. 

But  seemed  by  influence  not  its  own 

Drawn  downwards  through  the  western  air, 
Until  it  wholly  sunk  away, 
And  the  soft  Stars  had  all  the  sway. 

Then  to  that  hierarchy  of  light, 

With  face  upturned  the  sage  remained, — 
"At  least  Ye  stand  for  ever  bright, — 

Your  power  has  never  waxed  or  waned  !  " 
Even  while  he  spoke,  their  work  was  done, 
DroANTied  in  the  overflowing  Sun. 

Eastward  he  bent  his  eager  eyes — 

"  Creatures  of  Night !  false  Gods  and  frail ! 

Take  not  the  worship  of  the  wise. 
There  is  the  Deity  we  hail ; 

Fountain  of  light,  and  wannth,  and  lo^■e, 

He  only  bears  our  hearts  above." 

Yet  was  that  One — that  radiant  One, 
Who  seemed  so  absolute  a  King, 

Only  ordained  his  round  to  run. 
And  pass  like  each  created  thing  \ 

He  rested  not  in  noonday  prime. 

But  fell  beneath  the  strength  of  time. 

Then  like  one  labouring  without  hope 
To  bring  his  toil  to  fruitful  end, 


ABRAHAM  AND  HIS  GODS.  173 

And  powerless  to  discern  the  scope 

Whereto  his  aspirations  tend, 
Still  Abraham  prayed  by  night  and  day  — 
"  God  !  teach  me  to  what  God  to  pray  ! " 

Nor  long  in  vain  ;   an  inward  Liglit 

Arose  to  which  the  Sun  is  pale, 
The  knowledge  of  the  Infinite, 

The  sense  of  Truth  that  must  prevail  ; — 
The  presence  of  the  only  Lord 
By  angels  and  by  men  adored. 


174  ARABIAN  LEGENDS. 


in. 
MOSES   ON   MOUNT   SINAI. 

There  is  a  Hebrew  tradition  that  the  Israelites  asked  two  things  of  God, 
— to  hear  his  voice  and  see  his  glory  :  these  were  granted  them,  and  in  con- 
sequence they  fell  down  dead  :  but  the  Law  (which  is  here  a  personality)  ad- 
dressed God,  saying,  "  Shall  a  king  give  his  daughter  in  marriage  and  destroy 
bus  own  household  /  Thou  hast  given  me  to  the  world  which  rejoices  in  me, 
and  shall  the  Israelites,  thy  children,  perish?"  Upon  this,  the  dead  were 
restored  to  life;  for  "the  law  of  the  Lord  is  perfect,  converting  the  soul." 
Ps.  xix.  7.  The  Kuran  limits  the  vision  of  God  to  Moses.  The  leading 
events  of  that  Prophet's  life  are  there  given  with  little  variation  from  the 
Jewish  scriptures  :  the  events  connected  with  the  departure  of  the  Jews  from 
Egypt  have,  of  course,  afforded  much  scope  to  traditions  of  the  marvellous. 
One  miracle  ascribed  to  him,  as  being  exhibited  for  the  terror  of  Pharaoh,  is 
very  picturesque,  viz. ,  that  he  was  a  most  swarthy  man,  but  when  he  placed 
his  hand  in  his  bosom,  and  drew  it  forth  again,  it  became  extremely  white 
and  splendid,  surpassing  the  brightness  of  the  sun. 

Up  a  rough  peak,  that  toward  the  stormy  sky 

From  Sinai's  sandy  ridges  rose  aloft, 

Osarsiph,  priest  of  HieropoHs, 

Now  Moses  named,  ascending  reverently 

To  meet  and  hear  the  bidding  of  the  Lord. 

But,  though  he  knew  that  all  his  ancient  lore 

'I'raditionary  from  the  birth  of  Time, 

And  all  that  power  which  waited  on  his  hand, 

Even  from  the  day  his  just  instinctive  wTath 

Had  smote  th'  Egyptian  ravisher,*  and  all 

*  Not  just  according  to  the  Kuran,  which  makes  Moses  repent  of  it. 
Chap.  xxvi.  v.  19. 


MOSES  ON  MOUNT  SINAI.  175 

The  wisdom  of  his  cahn  and  ordered  mind 

Were  nothing  in  the  presence  of  his  God  ; 

Yet  xvas  there  left  a  certain  seed  of  pride, 

Vague  consciousness  of  some  self-centred  strength, 

That  made  him  cry,  "  Why,  Lord,  com'st  tliou  to  me, 

Only  a  voice,  a  motion  of  the  air, 

A  thing  invisible,  impalpable. 

Leaving  a  void,  an  unreality, 

Within  my  heart  ?     I  would,  with  e\ery  sense. 

Know  thou  wert  there — I  would  be  all  in  Thee  ! 

Let  me  at  least  behold  Thee  as  Thou  art ; 

Disperse  this  corporal  darkness  by  thy  light ; 

Hallow  my  vision  by  thy  glorious  form. 

So  that  my  sense  be  blest  for  evermore  !  " 

Thus  spoke  the  Prophet,  and  the  Voice  replied. 
As  in  low  thunders  over  distant  seas  : — 

"  Beneath  the  height  to  which  thy  feet  have  striven, 
A  hollow  trench  divides  the  cliffs  of  sand, 
Widen'd  by  rains  and  deepened  every  year. 
Gaze  straight  across  it,  for  there  opposite 
To  where  thou  standest,  I  will  place  myself, 
And  then,  if  such  remain  thy  fixed  desire, 
I  will  descend  to  side  by  side  with  thee." 

So  Moses  gazed  across  the  rocky  vale ; 
And  the  air  darkened,  and  a  lordly  bird 
Poised  in  the  midst  of  its  long-journeying  flight, 
And  touched  his  feet  with  limp  and  fluttering  wings 
And  all  the  air  around,  above,  below, 


176  ARABIAN  LEGENDS. 


Was  metamorphosed  into  sound — such  sound, 
That  separate  tones  were  undistinguishable, 
And  Moses  fell  upon  his  face,  as  dead. 
Yet  life  and  consciousness  of  life  returned  ; 
And,  when  he  raised  his  head,  he  saw  no  more 
The  deep  ravine  and  mountain  opposite, 
But  one  large  level  of  distracted  rocks, 
With  the  wide  desert  quaking  all  around. 

Then  Moses  fell  upon  his  face  again, 
And  prayed — "  O  !  pardon  the  presumptuous  thought. 
That  I  could  look  upon  thy  face  and  live  : 
Wonder  of  wonders  !  that  mine  ear  has  heard 
Thy  voice  unpalsied,  and  let  such  great  grace 
Excuse  the  audacious  blindness  that  o'erleaps 
Nature's  just  bounds  and  thy  discerning  will  1 " 


SOLOMON  AND    THE  ANTS.  177 


IV. 
SOLOMON   AND   THE  ANTS. 

Solomon  is  the  Hero  of  Wisdom  all  over  the  East  :  but  wisdom  there 
must  be  manifested  by  power  :  he  is  therefore  the  great  jNIagician,  the  ruler 
of  all  the  spirits  of  Creation,  and  to  whom  all  inferior  creatures  do  homage. 
The  Targum  to  the  Book  of  Esther,  i.  2,  relates  :  "  that  Demons  of  the  most 
different  orders,  and  all  evil  Spirits,  were  submitted  to  his  will."  The  8th 
verse  of  the  2nd  chapter  of  Ecclesiastes  has  been  interpreted  to  have  a  similar 
meaning.  One  of  the  singular  uses  to  which  he  applied  his  power,  according 
to  the  Mohammedan  commentators,  was  to  get  the  demons  to  make  a  depi- 
latory to  remove  the  hair  from  the  legs  of  the  Queen  of  Seba  before  he 
married  her.  The  following  story  from  the  Kuran  is  evidently  connected 
with  the  mention  of  the  wonderful  instincts  of  the  ant.  Proverbs,  vi.  6,  7,  8. 

Of  all  the  Kings  of  fallen  earth, 

The  sun  has  never  shone 
On  one  to  match  in  power  and  worth 

With  ancient  Solomon. 

Master  of  Genii  and  of  Men, 

He  ruled  o'er  sea  and  land ; 
Nor  bird  in  nest,  nor  beast  in  den, 

Was  safe  from  his  command. 

So  past  he,  gloriously  arrayed, 

One  morning  to  review 
The  creatures  God  on  earth  has  made, 

And  give  Him  homage  due. 

VOL.    I.  N 


178   ,  ARABIAN  LEGENDS. 

Well  busied  in  a  valley  near, 

A  troop  of  Ants  perceived 
The  coming  pomp — and  struck  with  fear 

Death  close  at  hand  believed. 

They  cried  :  "  What  care  the  Kings  and  Priests 

That  here  in  splendour  meet, 
^Vhat  care  the  Genii,  birds,  or  beasts, 

For  us  beneath  their  feet  ? 

For  what  are  we  to  them,  and  who 

Shall  check  their  mighty  way  ? 
Fly  to  your  inmost  homes  or  rue 

The  glory  of  to-day." 

The  son  of  David's  wondrous  ear 

No  haughty  mood  beguiled  ; 
He,  bent  the  Ant's  small  voice  to  hear. 

Beneficently  smiled ; 

And  i)rayed  :  "  Oh  God  !  the  great,  the  good. 

Of  kings  Almighty  King  ! 
Preserve  my  progress  free  from  blood, 

Or  hurt  to  living  thing  1 

"  Comfort  these  humble  creatures'  fear ; 
Let  all  thy  servants  know, 
That  I  thy  servant,  too,  am  here. 
Thy  power,  not  mine,  to  show. 


SOLOMO.V  AND   THE  ANTS.  179 


That,  'mid  the  tumult  and  the  tread 

Of  myriads,  I  will  guard 
Secure  from  hurt  each  little  head, 

As  thou  wilt  me  reward." 

And  thus  the  Ants  that  marvellous  scene 

Beheld,  as  glad  a  throng, 
As  if  their  tiny  fomis  had  been 

The  strongest  of  the  strong. 


N 


i8o  ARABIAN  LEGENDS. 


11 


FALLING  STARS. 

The  angels  on  th'  eternal  thrones 

Li  ecstacies  of  song  conspire, 
And  mingle  their  seraphic  tones 

With  words  of  wisdom,  words  of  fire  ; 
Discourse  so  subtle  and  so  sweet 

That  should  it  strike  on  human  ear, 
That  soul  must  leave  its  base  retreat. 

Attracted  to  a  loftier  sphere. 

So  the  sad  Spirits,  whom  the  will 

Of  God  exiles  to  outer  pain. 
Yearning  in  their  dark  bosoms  still 

For  all  their  pride  might  most  disdain. 
Round  the  serene  celestial  halls 

Hover  in  agonised  suspense, 
To  catch  the  slightest  sound  that  falls, 

The  faintest  breeze  that  mumiurs  thence. 

But  holy  instinct  strikes  a  sting 

Into  each  pure  angelic  breast. 
The  moment  any  sinful  thing 

Approaches  its  religious  rest ; 


FALLING  STARS.  i8l 

And  when  their  meteor  darts  are  hurled 
Th'  audacious  listeners  to  surprise, 

'Tis  said  by  mortals  in  their  world, 
That  Stars  are  falling  in  the  Skies. 


iS2  ARABIA IV  LEGENDS. 


VI. 
THE   INFANCY   OF   MOHAM^IED. 

This  legend  does  not  seem  to  me  to  be  orthodox,  but  rather  to  be  a  later 
invention  arising  from  a  desire  to  assimilate  the  nature  of  Mohammed  to  that 
of  Christ.  The  humility  of  Mohammed  in  all  that  concerns  his  personality 
is  conspicuous  throughout  the  Kuran.  "  I  do  not  say  unto  you,  that  in  my 
possession  are  the  treasures  of  God,  nor  that  I  know  what  is  unseen ;  nor  do 
I  say  unto  you,  Verily  I  am  an  angel,  —I  only  follow  what  is  revealed  to 
me."  Chap.  vi.  v.  50.  "Mohammed  is  nought  but  an  Apostle:  other 
Apostles  have  passed  away  before  him."  Chap.  iii.  v.  138.  Nor  does  Mo- 
hammed even  attribute  to  himself  any  specialty  of  nature  such  as  he  gives  to 
Christ,  whom  he  declares  to  have  been  born  of  a  Virgin  by  the  Spirit  of  God. 
"  She  said,  O  my  Lord,  how  shall  I  have  a  son,  when  a  man  hath  not  touched 
me  ?  He  answered — Thus.  God  will  create  what  he  pleaseth.  When  he  de- 
termineth  a  thing,  he  only  saith  unto  it.  Be,  and  it  is." 

An  Arab  nurse,  that  held  in  anns  a  sleeping  Arab 

child, 
Had  wandered  from  the  parents'  tents  some  way  into 

the  wild. 

She  knew  that  all  was  friendly  round,  she  had  no 

cause  to  fear, 
Although  the  rocks  strange  figures  made  and  night  was 

threatening  near. 

Yet  something  kin  to  dread  she  felt,  when  sudden  met 

her  sight 
Two   fonns   of    noble    maintenance   and    beautifully 

bright. 


THE  INFANCY  OF  MOHAMMED.  183 

Their  robes  were   dipt   in   sunset   hues — their  faces 

shone  on  high, 
As  Sirius  or  Canopus  shine  in  purest  summer  sky. 

Straight  up  to  her  without  a  word  they  walked,  yet  in 

their  gaze 
Was  greeting,  that  with  subtle  charm  might  temper  her 

amaze. 

One,  with  a  mother's  gentleness,  then  took  the  slum- 
bering child 

That  breathed  as  in  a  happy  dream,  and  delicately 
smiled  : 

Passed  a  gold  knife  across  his  breast,  that  opened 

without  pain. 
Took  out  its  little  beating  Heart — all  pure  but  one 

black  stain. 

Amid  the  ruddy  founts  of  life  in  foul  stagnation  lay 
That  thick  black  stain  like  cancerous  ill  that  eats  the 
flesh  away. 

The  other  Form  then  placed  the  heart  on  his  white 

open  hand, 
And  poured  on  it  a  magic  flood,  no  e\"il  could  ^uth- 

stand : 


I §4  ARABIAN  LEGENDS. 

And  by  degrees  the  deep  disease  beneath  the  v.-ondrous 
cure 

Vanished,  and  that  one  mortal  Heart  became  entirely- 
pure. 

With  earnest  care  they  laid  it  back  within  the  infant's 

breast, 
Closed  up  the  gaping  wound,  and  gave  the  blessing  of 

the  blest : 

Imprinting  each  a  burning  kiss  upon  its  even  brow, 
And  placed  it  in  the  nurse's  arms,  and  passed  she 
knew  not  how. 

Thus  was  jMohammed's  fresh-born  Heart  made  clean 

from  Adam's  sin. 
Thus  in  the  Prophet's  life  did  God  his  work  of  grace 

begin. 


MOHAMMED  AND    THE  MISER.  185 


VII. 
MOHAMMED   AND   THE   MISER. 

There  was  wailing  in  the  village — not  the  woe  of 

hireling  tears, 
There  was  sorrow  all  around  it — not  the  grief  of  servile 

fears, 
Though  the  good  Abdallah  dying,  to  his  son's  especial 

care 
Had  bequeathed  his  needy  neighbours,  making  him 

his  virtue's  heir. 

But  in  this  our  earthly  being  virtue  will  not  follow 
blood, 

Good  will  often  spring  from  evil,  evil  often  rise  from 
good; 

So  th'  ensample  of  his  father,  and  the  trust  to  him  con- 
signed. 

Could  not  change  the  rebel  nature,  could  not  raise  the 
niggard  mind. 

'Twas  the  season  when   the   date-trees,    cultured    in 

their  seemly  plan, 
Yield  their  sweet  and  wholesome  burden  into  the  glad 

lap  of  man ; 


l86  ARABIAN  LEGENDS. 

Then  it  was  Abdallah's  custom  to  collect  the  poor 

around, 
To  up-glean  the  casual  fruitage,  freely  scattered  on  the 

ground. 

But   that   year   about  the  date-grove   palisades  were 

planted  strong, 
Watchers  placed  to  guard  the  entrance,  watchers  all 

the  wall  along ; 
And  the  Lord  announced  his  harvest  on  the  morrow 

should  begin. 
Swearing  he  would  slay  the  peasant  that  should  creep 

the  pale  within. 

Passing    near,    the   Prophet   wondered   at   the   loud 

lament  he  heard, 
And  he  proffered  them  his  counsel,  and  he  soothed 

them  wth  his  word, 
And  he  bade  them  trust  in  Allah,  Father  of  the  rich 

and  poor, 
One  who  wills  not  that  his  children  pine  before  their 

brother's  door. 

Thundering  from  the  sandy  mountains  all  that  night 

the  tempest  came. 
All  that  night  the  veil  of  water  fell  before  the  flashing 

flame, 


MOHAMMED  AND    THE  MISER.  187 

And  when  dawn  the  IMaster  summoned  to  review  his 

promised  gain, 
Not  the  date-fruit,  but  the  date-trees,   strewed   the 

desolated  plain. 


iSS  ARABIAN  LEGENDS. 


VIII. 
MOHAMMED  AND  THE  BLIND  ABDALLAH. 

Referred  to  in  chap.  80  of  the  Kuran.  Abdallah  Ebn  Omm  Maktoun 
seems  to  have  been  a  man  of  no  rank  or  importance,  but  was  treated  with 
great  respect  by  the  Prophet  ever  after  this  adventure.  It  is  interesting  that 
Mohammed  should  make  his  own  faults  and  the  divine  reproofs  he  received 
a  matter  of  revelation,  and  a  stronger  proof  of  his  sincerity  and  earnestness 
could  hardly  be  given. 

The  blind  Abdallah  sought  the  tent 

Where,  'mid  the  eager  listening  croud, 
Mohammed  gave  his  wisdom  vent, 

And,  entering  fast,  he  cried  aloud — 
"  O  Father,  full  of  love  and  ruth  ! 

My  soul  and  body  both  are  blind  ; 
Pour  on  me  then  some  rays  of  truth 

From  thine  illuminated  mind." 

Perchance  the  Prophet  heard  him  not, 

Or  busied  well,  seemed  not  to  hear, 
Or,  interrupted,  then  forgot 

How  all  mankind  to  God  are  dear  : 
Disputing  with  the  great  and  strong. 

He  frowned  in  momentary  pride. 
While  through  the  jeering  outer  throng 

Th'  unnoticed  suppliant  crept  aside. 


MOHAMMED  AND    THE  BLIND  ABDALLAH.  189 

But,  in  the  calm  of  that  midnight, 

The  Voice  that  seldom  kept  aloof 
From  his  blest  pillow  spoke  the  right, 

And  uttered  words  of  stern  reproof : — 
"  How  dost  thou  know  that  poor  man's  soul 

Did  not  on  thy  regard  depend  ? 
The  rich  and  proud  thy  moods  controul ; — 

/  meant  thee  for  the  mourner's  friend." 


Deep  in  the  Prophet's  contrite  heart 

The  holy  reprimand  remained, 
And  blind  Abdallah  for  his  part 

Kindness  and  reverence  then  obtained : 
Twice,  after  years  of  sacred  strife, 

Within  Medeenah's  walls  he  ruled, 
The  man  through  whom  Mohammed's  life 

Into  its  perfect  grace  was  schooled. 


And,  from  the  warning  of  that  night, 

No  one,  however  humble,  past 
Without  salute  the  Prophet's  sight, 

Or  felt  his  hand  not  held  the  last : 
And  every  one  was  free  to  hear 

His  high  discourse,  and  in  his  breast 
Unburden  theirs  without  a  fear 

Of  troubling  his  majestic  rest. 


I90  ARABIAN  LEGENDS. 

Thus  too,  when  Muslim  IMuslim  meets, 

Though  new  the  face  and  strange  the  road, 
His  " Peace  be  on  you"  sweetly  greets 

The  ear,  and  lightens  many  a  load  : 
Proclaiming  that  in  Allah's  plan 

True  men  of  every  rank  and  race 
Fomi  but  one  family  of  man, 

One  Paradise  their  resting-place.* 

*  Salutation  in  the  East  seems  almost  a  religious  ordinance,  and  good 
manners  part  of  the  duty  of  a  good  Muslim. 


MOHAMMED  AND    THE  ASSASSIN.  191 


IX. 

MOHAMMED    AND    THE  ASSASSIN. 

"  Leave  me,  my  followers,  leave  me  ; 
The  best-loved  voices  grieve  me 
When  falls  the  weary  day  : 
My  heart  to  God  is  yearning, 
My  soul  to  God  returning : 
Leave  me  alone  to  pray." 

So  had  the  Prophet  spoken : 
The  silence  was  unbroken ; 
"WTiile  on  a  tree  close  by 
He  hung  his  arms  victorious, 
And  raised  his  forehead  glorious 
As  glows  the  western  sky. 

Fast  as  the  sun  descended. 
Further  the  Prophet  wended 
His  course  behind  the  hill ; 
"Where,  at  his  motives  prj-'ing, 
An  Arab  foe  was  lying, 
Hid  by  a  sand-heap  still. 


192  ARABIAN  LEGENDS. 


One  of  a  hateful  tribe, 
Treating  with  scorn  and  gibe 
God  and  the  Prophet's  name  : 
Creatures  of  evil  lust, 
Base  as  the  desert  dust, 
Proud  of  their  very  shame  ! 

With  upraised  sword  behind  him, 
Burning  to  slay  or  bind  him, 
Stealthy  the  traitor  trod  ; 
He  cried,  "At  last  I  brave  thee  ! 
AVhom  hast  thou  now  to  save  thee  ?  " 
"  God,"  said  the  Prophet,  "  God  ! " 

Guardian  of  Allah's  choice, 
Gabriel  had  heard  tliat  voice — 
Had  seen  the  felon's  brand ; 
Swift  from  his  hand  he  tore  it. 
Swift  as  an  arrow  bore  it 
Into  the  Prophet's  hand. 

O  vain  design,  and  senseless, 

To  find  the  man  defenceless 

Whom  God  loves  like  a  son ! 

He  cried,  "  Who  now  shall  save  thee  ? 

Which  of  the  friends  God  gave  thee  ?  " 

"  None,"  said  the  Arab,  "none  ! 


1 11 


MOJ^MMED  AND    THE  ASSASSIN.  193 

*'  Yes,"  said  the  Prophet,  "  One- 
Evil  the  deed  now  done — 
Still  thou  hast  found  a  friend  : 
Only  believe  and  bow 
To  him  who  has  saved  thee  now, 
Whose  mercy  knows  no  end." 


VOL.    T. 


EASTERN    THOUGHTS. 
I. 

THE    THINKER    AND    THE    POET. 

Sunshine  often  falls  refulgent 
After  all  the  com  is  in ; 
Often  Allah  grants  indulgent 
Pleasure  that  may  guard  from  sin  : 
Hence  your  wives  may  number  four  ; 
Though  he  best  consults  his  reason, 
Best  secures  his  house  from  treason, 
Who  takes  one  and  wants  no  more. 

Nor  less  well  the  man  once  gifted 
With  one  high  and  holy  Thought, 
Will  not  let  his  mind  be  shifted. 
But  adores  it,  as  he  ought ; 
Well  for  him  whose  spirit's  youth 
Rests  as  a  contented  lover, 
Nor  can  other  charms  discover 
Than  in  his  absorbing  Truth  ! 


THE  THINKER  AND    THE  POET.  195 


But  the  heaven-enfranchised  Poet 
Must  have  no  exclusive  home, 
He  must  feel,  and  freely  show  it, — 
Phantasy  is  made  to  roam  : 
He  must  give  his  passions  range, 
He  must  serve  no  single  dut^-, 
But  from  Beauty  pass  to  Beauty, 
Constant  to  a  constant  change. 

^^lth  all  races,  of  all  ages, 
He  must  people  his  Hareem  ; 
He  must  search  the  tents  of  sages. 
He  must  scour  the  vales  of  dream  : 
Ever  adding  to  his  store, 
From  new  cities,  from  new  nations. 
He  must  rise  to  new  creations, 
And,  unsated,  ask  for  more. 

In  the  manifold,  the  various, 
He  delights,  as  Nature's  child, — 
Grasps  at  joys  the  most  precarious, 
Rides  on  hopes,  however  wild  ! 
Though  his  heart  at  times  perceives 
One  enduring  Love  hereafter. 
Glimmering  through  his  tears  and  laughter, 
Like  the  sun  through  autumn  leaves. 


o  2 


196  EASTERN  THOUGHTS. 


II. 
THE    EASTERN    EPICUREAN. 

You  are  moaning,  "Life  is  waning," 
You  are  droning,  "  Flesh  is  weak  :  " 
Tell  me  too,  what  I  am  gaining 
While  I  listen,  while  you  speak. 

If  you  say  the  rose  is  blooming, 
But  the  blast  will  soon  destroy  it. 
Do  so,  not  to  set  me  glooming. 
But  to  make  me  best  enjoy  it. 

Calm  the  heart's  insatiate  yearning 
Towards  the  distant,  the  unknown  : 
Only  do  so,  without  turning 
Men  to  beasts,  or  flesh  to  stone. 

Cry  not  loud,  "  The  world  is  mad  \ 
Lord  !  how  long  shall  folly  rule  ?  " 
If  you've  nothing  but  the  sad 
To  replace  the  jovial  fool. 

Sorrow  is  its  own  clear  preacher, — 
Death  is  still  on  Nature's  tongue; — 
Life  and  joy  require  the  teacher, 
Honour  Youth  and  keep  it  young. 


197 


Even  you,  ascetics,  rightly, 
Should  appreciate  Love  and  Joy 
For  what  you  regard  so  lightly 
Where's  the  merit  to  destroy  ? 


III. 


"  To  endure  and  to  pardon  is  the  wisdom  of  life. ' 

Kutan,  42,  V.  41. 

Father  !  if  we  may  well  endure 
The  ill  that  with  our  lives  begins, 
May'st  Thou,  to  whom  all  things  are  pure. 
Endure  our  follies  and  our  sins  ! 

Brothers  !  if  we  return  you  good 
For  evil  thought  or  malice  done, 
Doubt  not,  that  in  our  hearts  a  blood 
As  hot  as  in  }'0ur  own  may  run. 


198.  EASTERN   THOUGHTS. 


IV. 
PHYSICAL    AND    MORAL    BLINDNESS. 

I'he  hab'ts  here  alluded  to  are  familiar  to  every  traveller  in  those  parts  of 
the  East  where  a  large  portion  of  the  population  are  subject  to  ophthalmia 
and  other  diseases  of  the  eyes,  brought  on  b3'dirt  and  carelessness.  In  Egypt 
the  number  is  much  increased  by  those  who  have  blinded  themselves,  or  been 
Minded  by  their  parents,  to  avoid  the  conscription. 

The  child  whose  eyes  were  never  blest 
With  heavenly  light,  or  lost  it  soon, 
About  another's  neck  will  rest 
Its  arm,  and  walk  like  you  at  noon ; 
The  blind  old  man  will  place  his  palm 
Upon  a  child's  fresh-blooming  bead. 
And  follow  through  the  croud  in  calm 
That  infantine  and  trusty  tread. 

We,  too,  that  in  our  spirits  dark 
Traverse  a  wild  and  weary  way, 
May  in  these  sweet  resources  mark 
A  lesson,  and  be  safe  as  they : 
Resting,  when  young,  in  happy  faith 
On  fair  affection's  daily  bond. 
And  afterwards  resigned  to  death, 
Feeling  the  childly  life  beyond. 


DISCORDANT  ELEMENTS.  199 


V. 
DISCORDANT    ELEMENTS. 

In  the  sight  of  God  all-seeing 
Once  a  handful  of  loose  foam 
Played  upon  the  sea  of  being, 
Like  a  child  about  its  home  : 
In  his  smile  it  shone  delighted, 
Danced  beneath  his  swaying  hand, 
But  at  last  was  cast  benighted 
On  the  cold  and  alien  land. 

Can  it  wait  till  waves  returning 
Bear  it  to  its  parent  breast  ? 
Can  it  bear  the  noontide's  burning, 
Dwelling  Earth's  contented  guest  ? 
Oh  I  no, — it  will  filter  slowly 
Through  the  hard  ungenial  shore. 
Till  each  particle  be  wholly 
In  the  deep  absorbed  once  more. 


200  EASTERN  THOUGHTS. 


VI. 

THE    TWO    THEOLOGIES. 

THE    MYSTIC    SPEAKS. 

It  must  be  that  the  Hght  divine 
That  on  your  soul  is  pleased  to  shine 
Is  other  than  what  falls  on  mine : 

For  you  can  fix  and  foraialize 

The  Power  on  which  you  raise  your  eyes, 

And  trace  him  in  his  palace-skies ; 

You  can  perceive  and  almost  touch 
His  attributes  as  such  and  such, 
Almost  familiar  overmuch. 

You  can  his  thoughts  and  ends  display, 

In  fair  historical  array, 

From  Adam  to  the  judgment-day. 

You  can  adjust  to  time  and  place 
The  sweet  effusions  of  his  grace, 
And  feel  yourself  before  his  face. 


THE   TWO   THEOLOGIES.  201 


You  walk  as  in  some  summer  night, 
With  moon  or  stars  serenely  bright, 
On  which  you  gaze— at  ease — upright. 

But  I  am  like  a  flower  sun-bent, 
Exhaling  all  its  life  and  scent 
Beneath  the  heat  omnipotent. 

I  have  not  comforts  such  as  you, — 
I  rather  suffer  good  than  do, — 
Yet  God  is  my  Deliverer  too. 

I  cannot  think  Him  here  or  there — 
I  think  Him  ever  everyAvhere — 
Unfading  light,  unstifled  air. 

I  lay  a  piteous  mortal  thing,  — 
Yet  shadowed  by  his  spirit's  wing, 
A  deathless  life  could  in  me  spring : 

And  thence  I  am,  and  still  must  be ; 
A\Tiat  matters  whether  I  or  He?— 
Little  was  there  to  love  in  me. 

I  know  no  beauty,  bliss,  or  worth, 
In  that  which  we  call  Life  on  earth. 
That  we  should  mourn  its  loss  or  dearth 


202  EASTERN  THOUGHTS. 

That  we  should  sorrow  for  its  sake, 
If  God  will  the  imperfect  take 
Unto  Himself,  and  perfect  make. 

O  Lord  !  our  separate  lives  destroy  ! 
Merge  in  thy  gold  our  soul's  alloy, — 
Pain  is  our  own,  and  Thou  art  Joy  1 


LOSS  AND   GAIN.  203 


VII, 
LOSS    AND    GAIN. 

MvRiAD   Roses,    unregretted,  perish   in   their   vernal 

bloom, 
That  the  essence  of  their  sweetness  once  your  Beauty 

may  perfume. 

Myriad  Veins  of   richest  life-blood    empty  for    their 

priceless  worth, 
To  exalt  one  Will  imperial  over  spacious   realms   of 

earth. 

Myriad  Hearts  are  pained  and  broken  that  o?ie  Poet 

may  be  taught 
To  discern  the  shapes  of  passion  and  describe  them  as 

he  ought. 

IMyriad  Minds  of  heavenly  temper  pass  as  passes  moon 

or  star, 
That  one  philosophic  Spirit  may  ascend  the  solar  car. 

Sacrifice  and  Self-devotion  hallow  earth  and  fill  the 

skies, 
And  the  meanest  Life  is  sacred  whence  the  highest 

may  arise. 


204  EASTERN  THOUGHTS. 


VIII. 
THE   MOTH. 

Parted  from  th'  eternal  presence, 

Into  life  the  Soul  is  born, 
In  its  fragmentary  essence 

Left  unwittingly  forlorn. 

In  the  shrubbery's  scented  shadows 
First  the  insect  tries  its  wings. 

In  the  evening's  misty  meadows 
It  pursues  the  faery  rings. 

Where  the  trelliced  roses  clamber. 
And  the  jasmine  peeps  between, 

Looks  the  gardener's  lowly  chamber 
On  the  garden — on  the  green. 

Through  the  sultry  veil  of  vapour, 

Like  a  nearer  nether  star, 
Shines  the  solitary  taper. 

Seen  and  known  by  friend  afar. 

Then  the  Moth,  Ijy  strange  attraction, 
Leaves  the  garden,  leaves  the  field, 

Cannot  rest  in  sweet  inaction. 

Cannot  taste  what  earth  can  yield. 


THE  MOTH.  205 


As  the  lov'd  one  to  the  lover, 
As  a  treasure,  once  your  own, 

That  you  might  some  way  recover, 
Seems  to  him  that  fiery  cone. 

Round  he  whirls  with  pleasure  tingling- 
Shrinks  aghast — returns  again — 

Ever  wildly  intermingling 

Deep  delight  and  burning  pain. 


Highest  nature  wills  the  capture, 
"  Light  to  light "  th'  instinct  cries, 

And,  in  agonising  rapture, 

Falls  the  Moth,  and  bravely  dies  ! 

Think  not  what  thou  art.  Believer ; 

Think  but  what  thou  may'st  become  ; 
For  the  World  is  thy  deceiver, 

And  the  Light  thy  only  home  ! 


2o6  EASTERN  THOUGHTS. 

IX. 
THE  SAYINGS   OF   RABIA. 

Rabia  was  a  holy  woman,  who  lived  in  the  second  century  of  the  Hegira. 
Her  sayings  and  thoughts  are  collected  by  many  devotional  Arabic  writers  : 
they  are  a  remarkable  development  of  a  purely  Christian  mystical  spirit  so 
early  in  the  history  of  Islam  ;  the  pantheistic  mysticism  of  Sufism  soon  fol- 
lowed, and  obtained  a  signal  victory  over  the  bare  positive  theism  of  the  Pro- 
phet, clothing  the  heartless  doctrine  with  a  radiant  vesture  of  imagination. 


A  PIOUS  friend  one  day  of  Rabia  asked, 

How  she  had  learnt  the  truth  of  Allah  wholly  ? 

By  what  instructions  was  her  memor}^  tasked — 

How  was  her  heart  estranged  from  this  world's  folly  ? 

She  answered — "  Thou  who  knowest  God  in  parts, 
Thy  spirit's  moods  and  processes,  can  tell ; 

I  only  know  that  in  my  heart  of  hearts 

I  have  despised  myself  and  loved  Him  well." 

II. 

Some  evil  upon  Rabia  fell, 
And  one  who  loved  and  knew  her  well 
Murmured  that  God  with  pain  undue 
Should  strike  a  child  so  fond  and  true : 
But  she  replied — "  Believe  and  trust 
That  all  I  suffer  is  most  just ; 


THE  SAYINGS  OF  RABIA.  207 

I  had  in  contemplation  striven 
To  realise  the  joys  of  heaven ; 
I  had  extended  fancy's  flights 
Through  all  that  region  of  delights, — 
Had  counted,  till  the  numbers  failed, 
The  pleasures  on  the  blest  entailed, — 
Had  sounded  the  ecstatic  rest 
I  should  enjoy  on  Allah's  breast ; 
And  for  those  thoughts  I  now  atone 
That  were  of  something  of  my  own, 
And  were  not  thoughts  of  Him  alone." 


nr. 

When  Rabia  unto  Mekkeh  came, 

She  stood  awhile  apart — alone, 
Nor  joined  the  croud  with  hearts  on  flame 

Collected  round  the  sacred  stone. 

She,  like  the  rest,  with  toil  had  crossed 
The  waves  of  water,  rock,  and  sand, 

And  now,  as  one  long  tempest-tossed, 
Beheld  the  Kaabeh's  promised  land. 

Yet  in  her  eyes  no  transport  glistened ; 

She  seemed  with  shame  and  sorrow  bowed ; 
The  shouts  of  prayer  she  hardly  listened, 

But  beat  her  heart  and  cried  aloud  : — 


2o8  EASTERN  THOUGHTS. 

"  O  heart !  weak  follower  of  the  weak, 
That  thou  should'st  traverse  land  and  sea, 

In  this  far  place  that  God  to  seek 
Who  long  ago  had  come  to  thee  ! " 

IV. 

Round  holy  Rabia's  suffering  bed 

The  wise  men  gathered,  gazing  gravely — 

*'  Daughter  of  God  !  "  the  youngest  said, 
"  Endure  thy  Father's  chastening  bravely  ; 

They  who  have  steeped  their  souls  in  prayer 

Can  every  anguish  calmly  bear." 

She  answered  not,  and  turned  aside. 
Though  not  reproachfully  nor  sadly  ; 

"  Daughter  of  God  !  "  the  eldest  cried, 
"  Sustain  thy  Father's  chastening  gladly, 

They  who  have  learnt  to  pray  aright. 

From  pain's  dark  well  draw  up  delight." 

Then  she  spoke  out, — "  Your  words  are  fair ; 

But,  oh  !  the  truth  lies  deeper  still ; 
I  know  not,  when  absorbed  in  prayer, 

Pleasure  or  pain,  or  good  or  ill ; 
They  who  God's  face  can  understand 
Feel  not  the  motions  of  His  hand." 


PLEASURE  AND  FAIN.  209 

X. 

PLEASURE  AND    PAIN. 

Who  can  determine  the  frontier  of  Pleasure  ? 

Who  can  distinguish  the  Umit  of  Pain  ? 
Where  is  the  moment  the  feehng  to  measure  ? 

When  is  experience  repeated  again  ? 

Ye  who  have  felt  the  delirium  of  passion — 
Say,  can  ye  sever  its  joys  and  its  pangs  ? 

Is  there  a  power  in  calm  contemplation 
To  indicate  each  upon  each  as  it  hangs  ? 

I  would  believe  not ; — for  spirit  will  languish 

While  sense  is  most  blest  and  creation  most  bright ; 

And  life  will  be  dearer  and  clearer  in  anguish 
Than  ever  was  felt  in  the  throbs  of  delight 

See  the  Fakeer  as  he  swings  on  his  iron, 

See  the  thin  Hermit  that  starves  in  the  wild  ; 

Think  ye  no  pleasures  the  penance  environ. 

And  hope  the  sole  bliss  by  which  pain  is  beguiled  ? 

No  !  in  the  kingdoms  those  spirits  are  reaching, 
Vain  are  our  words  the  emotions  to  tell ; 

Vain  the  distinctions  our  senses  are  teaching. 
For  Pain  has  its  Heaven  and  Pleasure  its  Hell ! 

VOL.    I.  ^' 


210  EASTERN  THOUGHTS. 


XI. 
THE   PEACE   OF   GOD. 

"  The  blessed  shall  hear  no  vain  words,  but  only  the  word — Peace.' 

KuRAN,  chap.  xix.  v.  63. 

Peace  is  God's  direct  assurance 

To  die  souls  that  win  release 
From  this  world  af  hard  endurance — 

Peace — he  tells  us — only  Peace. 

There  is  Peace  in  lifeless  matter — 
There  is  Peace  in  dreamless  sleep — 

Will  then  Death  our  being  shatter 
In  annihilation's  deep  ? 

Ask  you  this  ?  O  mortal  trembler  I 
Hear  the  Peace  that  Death  affords — 

For  your  God  is  no  dissembler, 

Cheating  you  with  double  words  : — 

To  this  life's  inquiring  traveller, 
Peace  of  knowledge  of  all  good  ; 

To  the  anxious  truth-unraveller, 
Peace  of  wisdom  understood  : — 


THE  PEACE  OF  GOD.  211 

To  the  loyal  wife,  affection 

Towards  her  husband,  free  from  fear, — 
To  the  faithful  friend,  selection 

Of  all  memories  kind  and  dear  : — 

To  the  lover,  full  fruition 

Of  an  unexhausted  joy, — 
To  the  warrior,  crowned  ambition, 

With  no  envy's  base  alloy  : — 

To  the  ruler,  sense  of  action, 

Working  out  his  great  intent, — 
To  the  prophet,  satisfaction 

In  the  mission  he  was  sent : — 

To  the  poet,  conscious  glory 

Flowing  from  his  Father's  face  : — 
Such  is  Peace  in  holy  story. 

Such  is  Peace  in  heavenly  grace. 


p  2 


212  EASTERN  THOUGHTS. 


XII. 
CHRISTIAN    ENDURANCE. 

TO   HARRIET    MARTINEAU. 

Mortal  !  that  standest  on  a  point  of  time, 

With  an  eternity  on  either  hand, 
Thou  hast  one  duty  above  all  sublime, 

Where  thou  art  placed  serenely  there  to  stand  : 

To  stand  undaunted  by  the  threatening  death, 
Or  harder  circumstance  of  living  doom. 

Nor  less  untempted  by  the  odorous  breath 
Of  Hope,  that  rises  even  from  the  tomb. 

For  Hope  will  never  dull  the  present  pain. 
And  Time  will  never  keep  thee  safe  from  fall. 

Unless  thou  hast  in  thee  a  mind  to  reign 
Over  thyself,  as  God  is  over  all. 

'Tis  well  on  deeds  of  good,  though  small,  to  thrive, 
'Tis  well  some  part  of  ill,  though  small,  to  cure, 

'Tis  well  with  onward,  ujjward,  hopes  to  strive, 
Yet  better  and  diviner  to  endure. 


,  CHRISTIAN  ENDURANCE.  213 

What  but  this  virtue's  solitary  power, 

Through  all  the  lusts  and  dreams  of  Greece  and 
Rome, 
Bore  the  selected  spirits  of  the  hour 

Safe  to  a  distant,  immaterial  home  ? 

What  but  this  lesson,  resolutely  taught. 
Of  Resignation,*  as  God's  claim  and  due, 

Hallows  the  sensuous  hopes  of  Eastern  thought, 
And  makes  Mohammed's  mission  almost  true  ? 

But  in  that  patience  was  the  seed  of  scorn — 
Scorn  of  the  world  and  brotherhood  of  man  • 

Not  patience  such  as  in  the  manger  born 
Up  to  the  cross  endured  its  earthly  span. 

Thou  must  endure,  yet  loving  all  the  while, 
Above,  yet  never  separate  from,  thy  kind, — ■ 

Meet  every  frailty  with  the  gentlest  smile, 
Though  to  no  possible  depth  of  evil  blind. 

This  is  the  riddle  thou  hast  life  to  solve ; 

But  in  the  task  thou  shalt  not  work  alone  : 
For,  while  the  worlds  about  the  sun  revolve, 

God's  heart  and  mind  are  ever  with  his  own  ! 

*  Vide  page  i5i,  and  note. 


214  THE   KIOSK. 


THE   KIOSK.* 

Beneath  the  shadow  of  a  large-leaved  plane, 

Above  the  ripple  of  a  shallow  stream, 

Beside  a  cypress-planted  cemetery, 

In  a  gay-painted  trellis-worked  kiosk, 

A  company  of  easy  Muslims  sat, 

Enjoying  the  calm  measure  of  delight 

God  grants  the  faithful  even  here  on  earth. 

Most  pleasantly  the  bitter  berry  tastes, 

Handed  by  that  bright-eyed  and  neat-limbed  boy ; 

Most  daintily  the  long  chibouk  is  filled 

And  almost  before  emptied,  filled  again ; 

Or,  with  a  free  good-will,  from  mouth  to  mouth 

Passes  the  cool  Nargheelee"'  serpentine. 

So  sit  they,  with  some  low  occasional  word 

Breaking  the  silence  in  itself  so  sweet. 

While  o'er  the  neighbouring  bridge  the  caravan 

AVinds  slowly  in  one  line  intenninable 


*  Story-telling  is,  now  as  ever,  the  delight  of  the  Fast :  in  the  coffee  and 
Mimmer  houses,  at  the  corners  of  the  streets,  in  the  courts  of  the  mosque,  sit 
the  grave  and  attentive  crowd,  hearing  with  childly  pleasure  the  same  stories 
over  and  over  again,  applauding  every  new  turn  of  expression  or  incident, 
but  not  requiring  them  any  more  than  the  hearers  of  a  European  sermon. 

t  The  hookah  of  the  Levant. 


THE  PERSIAN'S  STORY.  215 


Of  camel  after  camel,  each  with  neck 

Jerked  up,  as  sniffing  the  far  desert  air. 

Then  one  serene  old  Turk,  with  snow-white  beard 

Hanging  amid  his  pistol-hilts  profuse, 

Spoke  out—"  Till  sunset  all  the  time  is  ours, 

And  we  should  take  advantage  of  the  chance 

That  brings  us  here  together.     This  my  friend 

Tells  by  his  shape  of  dress  and  peaked  cap 

Where  his  home  lies:  he  comes  from  furthest  off, 

So  let  the  round  of  tales  begin  \iith  him." 

Thus  challenged,  in  his  thoughts  the  Persian  dived, 

And,  with  no  waste  of  faint  apologies, 

Related  a  plain  story  of  his  life, 

Nothing  adventurous,  terrible,  or  strange, 

But,  as  he  said,  a  simple  incident, 

That  any  one  there  present  might  have  known. 


THE    PERSIAN'S    STORY. 

"  Wakedi,  and  the  Heshemite,  and  I, 
Called  each  the  other  friend,  and  what  we  meant 
By  all  the  meaning  of  that  common  word, 
One  tale  among  a  hundred — one  round  pearl 
Dropped  off  the  chain  of  daily  circumstance 
Into  the  Poet's  hand— one  luscious  fruit 
Scarce  noticed  in  the  summer  of  the  tree. 
Is  here  preserved,  that  you  may  do  the  like. 


21 6  THE  KIOSK. 


"  The  Ramadhan's  long  days  (where'er  they  fall 
Certain  to  seem  the  longest  of  the  year) 
Were  nearly  over,  and  the  populous  streets 
Were  silent  as  if  haunted  by  the  plague ; 
For  all  the  tOA\-n  was  crowding  the  bazaar, 
To  buy  new  garments,  as  beseemed  the  time. 
In  honour  of  the  Prophet  and  themselves. 
But  in  our  house  my  wife  and  I  still  sat, 
And  looked  with  sorrow  in  each  other's  face. 
It  was  not  for  ourselves — we  well  could  let 
Our  present  clothes  serve  out  another  year, 
And  meet  the  neighbours'  scoffs  with  quiet  minds ; 
But  for  our  children  we  were  grieved  and  shamed ; 
That  they  should  have  to  hide  their  little  heads, 
And  take  no  share  of  pleasure  in  the  Feast, 
Or  else  contrast  their  torn  and  squalid  vests 
With  the  gay  freshness  of  their  playmates'  garb. 
At  last  my  wife  spoke  out — '  Where  are  your  friends  ? 
Where  is  Wakedi?  where  the  Heshemite? 
That  you  are  worn  and  pale  with  want  of  gold, 
And  they  perchance  with  coin  laid  idly  by 
In  some  closed  casket,  or  in  some  vain  sport 
Wasted,  for  want  of  honest  purposes  ? ' 
My  heart  leapt  light  within  me  at  these  words. 
And  I,  rejoicing  at  my  pain  as  past, 
Sent  one  I  trusted  to  the  Heshemite, 
Told  him  my  need  in  few  plain  written  words, 
And,  ere  an  hour  had  passed,  received  from  him 


THE  PERSIAN'S  STORY.  217 

A  purse  of  gold  tied  up,  sealed  with  his  name  : 

And  in  a  moment  I  was  down  the  street, 

And,  in  my  mind's  eye,  chose  the  children's  clothes. 

— But  between  will  and  deed,  however  near, 

There  often  lies  a  gulf  impassable. 

So,  ere  I  reached  the  gate  of  the  Bazaar, 

^Vakedi's  slave  accosted  me — his  breath 

Cut  short  with  haste  \  and  from  his  choaking  throat 

His  master's  message  issued  word  by  word. 

The  sum  was  this  : — a  cruel  creditor, 

Taking  the  'vantage  of  the  season's  use. 

Pressed  on  Wakedi  for  a  debt,  and  swore 

That,  unless  paid  ere  evening-prayer,  the  law 

Should  wxing  by  force  the  last  of  his  demand. 

Wakedi  had  no  money  in  the  house. 

And  I  was  prayed,  in  this  his  sudden  strait, 

To  aid  him,  in  my  duty  as  a  friend. 

Of  course  I  took  the  Heshemite's  sealed  purse 

Out  of  my  breast,  and  gave  it  to  the  slave  ; 

Yet  I  must  own,  oppressed  with  foolish  fear 

Of  my  wife's  tears,  and,  might  be,  bitter  words. 

If  empty-handed  I  had  home  returned, 

I  sat  all  night,  half-sleeping,  in  the  mosque, 

Beneath  the  glimmering  feathers,  eggs,  and  larnps. 

And  only  in  the  morning  nerved  my  heart. 

To  tell  her  of  our  disappointed  pride. 

She,  when  I  stammered  out  my  best  excuse, 

Abashed  me  with  her  kind  approving  calm, 


2i8  THE  KIOSK. 


Saying — 'The  parents'  honour  clothes  the  child.' 

Thus  I  grew  cheerful  in  her  cheerfulness, 

And  we  began  to  sort  the  children's  vests, 

And  found  them  not  so  sordid  after  all. 

'This  might  be  turned — that  stain  might  well  be  hid- 

This  remnant  might  be  used.'     So  we  went  on 

Almost  contented,  till  surprised  we  saw 

The  Heshemite  approach,  and  with  quick  steps 

Enter  the  house,  and  in  his  hand  he  showed 

The  very  purse  tied  up,  sealed  with  his  name, 

Which  I  had  given  to  help  Wakedi's  need  ! 

At  once  he  asked  us,  mingling  words  and  smiles, 

'  What  means  this  secret  ?  you  sent  yester  morn 

Asking  for  gold,  and  I,  without  delay. 

Returned  the  purse  containing  all  I  had. 

But  I  too  found  myself  that  afternoon 

Wanting  to  buy  a  sash  to  grace  the  feast ; 

And  sending  to  Wakedi,  from  my  slave 

Received  this  purse  I  sent  you  the  same  morn 

Unopened.'     '  Easy  riddle,'  I  replied, 

'  And,  as  I  hope,  no  miracle  for  me — 

That  what  you  gave  me  for  my  pleasure's  fee 

Should  serve  Wakedi  in  his  deep  distress.' 

And  then  I  told  him  of  Wakedi's  fate  : 

And  we  were  both  o'ercome  with  anxious  care 

Lest  he,  obeying  his  pure  friendship's  call. 

Had  perilled  his  own  precious  liberty, 

Or  suffered  some  hard  judgment  of  the  law. 


THE  PERSIAN'S  STORY.  219 

But  to  our  great  delight  and  inward  peace, 

^Vakedi  a  few  moments  after  stood 

Laughing  behind  us,  ready  to  recount, 

How  Allah,  loving  the  unshrinking  faith 

AVith  which  he  had  supplied  his  friend's  desire 

Regardless  of  his  own  necessity, 

Assuaged  the  creditor's  strong  rage,  and  made 

His  heart  accessible  to  gentle  thoughts. 

Granting  Wakedi  time  to  pay  the  debt. 

— Thus  our  three  tales  were  gathered  into  one, 

Just  as  I  give  them  you,  and  with  the  purse 

Then  opened  in  the  presence  of  the  three — 

We  gave  my  children  unpretending  vests. 

Applied  a  portion  to  Wakedi's  debts, 

And  bought  the  Heshemite  the  richest  sash 

The  best  silk  merchant  owned  in  the  Bazaar." 


Soon  as  he  ceased,  a  pleasant  murmur  rose. 
Not  only  of  applause,  but  of  good  words, 
Dwelling  upon  the  subject  of  the  tale  ; 
Each  to  his  neighbour  in  low  utterance  spoke 
Of  Friendship  and  its  blessings,  and  God's  grace, 
By  which  man  is  not  left  alone  to  fight. 
His  dailv  battle  throu!?h  a  cruel  world. 


^o' 


The  next  in  order,  by  his  garb  and  look, 
A  Syrian  merchant  seemed,  who  made  excuse 


220  THE  KIOSK. 


That  he  had  nothing  of  his  own  to  tell, 

But  if  the  adventure  of  one  like  himself, 

Who  roamed  the  world  for  interchange  of  gain, 

Encountering  all  the  quaint  varieties 

Of  men  and  nature,  pleased  them,  it  was  theirs. 


THE    SYRIAN'S    STORY. 

"A  merchant  of  Damascus,  to  whom  gain 

Tasted  the  sweetest  when  most  boldly  won, 

Crossed  the  broad  Desert,  crossed  th'  Arabian  Gulf, 

Entered  with  goods  the  far-secluded  land 

That  Franks  call  Abyssinia,  and  became 

The  favourite  and  companion  of  its  King. 

And  little  wonder — for  to  that  rude  chief 

He  spoke  of  scenes  and  sights  so  beautiful. 

Of  joys  and  splendours  that  had  hardly  place 

In  his  imagined  Paradise,  of  arts 

By  which  all  seasons  were  made  sweet  and  mild. 

In  the  hot  sandy  winds  and  blazing  sun, 

He  spoke  of  alleys  of  delicious  shade. 

Of  coloured  glass  that  tempered  the  sharp  light, 

Of  fountains  l)ul)bling  up  through  heaps  of  flowers, 

And  boys  and  maidens  fanning  genial  airs : 

In  the  bleak  snow-time,  when  the  winds  rung  shrill 

Through  the  ill-jointed  palace,  he  pourtrayed 

The  Syrian  winter  of  refreshing  cool. 


THE  SYRIAN'S  STORY.  221 

And  breezes  pregnant  with  all  health  to  man. 
At  last  the  King  no  more  could  hold  in  check 
The  yearning  of  his  heart,  and  spoke  aloud — 
'  Friend  !  what  is  now  to  me  my  royal  state, 
My  free  command  of  all  these  tribes  of  men, 
My  power  to  slay  or  keep  alive, — my  wealth. 
Which  once  I  deemed  the  envy  of  all  kings, — 
If  by  my  life  amid  these  wild  waste  hills 
I  am  shut  out  from  that  deliciousness 
Which  makes  existence  heavenly  in  your  words, — 
If  I  must  pass  into  my  Father's  tomb, 
These  pleasures  all  untasted,  this  bright  earth 
To  me  in  one  dark  corner  only  known  ? 
Why  should  I  not,  for  some  short  time,  lay  by 
My  heavy  sceptre,  and  with  wealth  in  hand. 
And  thee  to  guide  and  light  me  in  my  path, 
Travel  to  those  fair  countries  God-endowed, — 
And  then  with  store  of  happy  memories, 
And  thoughts,  for  pauses  of  the  lion-hunt, 
And  tales  to  tell,  to  keep  the  evenings  warm, 
Return  once  more  to  my  paternal  throne  ? ' 
Gladly  the  merchant,  weary  wath  his  stay 
In  that  far  land,  and  fearing  lest  kind  force 
Might  hold  him  prisoner  there  for  some  long  time, 
Accepted  the  proposal,  praised  the  scheme 
As  full  of  wise,  and  just,  and  manly  thought, 
Recounted  the  advantages  the  land 
Would  from  their  King's  experience  surely  draw : 


222  THE  KIOSK. 


And  ended  by  determining  the  day 
'\\Tien  they  tvvo  should  set  out  upon  their  road, 
Worthily  armed,  with  ample  store  of  gold, 
And  gems  adroitly  hid  about  their  dress. 

"  The  day  arrived,  big  with  such  change  of  life 
To  this  brave  Monarch  :  in  barbaric  pomp 
Were  gathered  all  the  princes  of  the  race, 
All  men  of  name  and  prowess  in  the  state, 
And  tributary  chiefs  from  Ethiop  hills. 
With  mingled  admiration  and  dismay 
They  heard  the  King  announce  he  should  go  forth 
To  distant  nations  ere  that  sun  went  down ; — 
That  for  two  years  they  would  not  see  his  face ; 
But  then  he  trusted  God  he  should  return 
Enriched  with  wisdom,  worthier  of  his  rule. 
And  able  to  impart  much  good  to  them. 
Then  to  the  trust  of  honourable  men 
Committing  separate  provinces  and  towns. 
And  over  all,  in  delegated  rule. 
Establishing  his  favourite  brother's  power. 
Amid  applauses,  tumults,  prayers,  and  tears, 
Towards  the  Arabian  Gulf  he  bent  his  way. 
A  well-manned  boat  lay  ready  on  the  shore ; 
A  prosperous  gale  was  playing  on  the  sea ; 
And  after  some  few  days  of  pleasant  sail. 
From  Djedda's  port  to  Mekkeh's  blessed  walls 
The  Merchant  and  the  King  advanced  alone. 


THE  SYRIAN'S  STORY.  223 

"  At  every  step  he  made  in  this  new  world, 
At  every  city  where  they  stopped  a  while 
On  their  long  journey,  with  the  fresh  delight 
His  eye  was  ravished  and  his  heart  was  full ; 
And  when  at  last  upon  his  vision  flashed 
Holy  Damascus,*  with  its  mosques,  and  streams, 
A  gem  of  green  set  in  the  golden  sand, 
The  King  embraced  his  friend ;  and,  thanking  God 
That  he  had  led  him  to  this  heaven,  despised 
The  large  dominion  of  his  Afric  birth, 
And  vowed  he'd  rather  be  a  plain  man  there, 
Than  rule  o'er  all  the  sources  of  the  Nile. 
Thus  in  Damascus  they  were  safely  housed. 
And  as  the  King's  gold  through  the  Merchant's  hands 
Flowed  freely,  friends  came  pouring  in  amain. 
Deeming  it  all  the  fortunate  reward 
Of  the  bold  Merchants  venture ;  for  he  spoke 
To  none  about  the  secret  King,  who  seemed 
Rather  some  humble  fond  companion  brought 
From  the  far  depths  of  that  gold-teeming  land. 
Oh  !  what  a  life  of  luxury  was  there  ! 
Velvet  divans,  curtains  of  broidered  silk, 
Carpets,  as  fine  a  work  of  Persian  looms 
As  those  that  in  the  Mosque  at  Mekkeh  lie ; 
The  longest,  straitest,  pipes  in  all  the  East, 
With  amber  mouth-pieces  as  clear  as  air ; 

*  Statius  (Sylv.  i,  6,  14),  speaks  of  Syrian  plums,  as,  "  Quod  ramis  pia 
germinat  Damascus." 


224  THE  KIOSK. 


Fresh  sparkling  sherbet,  such  as  Franks  adore ;  * 

And  maidens  who  might  dazzle  by  their  charms 

The  Sultan  seated  in  his  full  Hareem. 

The  months  rolled  on  with  no  diminished  joys, 

Nay,  each  more  lavish  in  magnificence 

Than  that  which  went  before;  and,  drunk  with  pleasure. 

The  Merchant  lost  all  sense  and  estimate 

Of  the  amount  of  wealth  he  and  the  King 

Had  brought  together  from  that  distant  clime. 

The  gold  was  soon  exhausted,  yet  remained 

A  princely  store  of  jewels,  which  for  long 

Sustained  that  fabric  of  enchanted  life. 

But  one  by  one  were  spent  and  passed  away ; 

Then  came  the  covert  sale  of  splendours  bought ; 

Then  money  borrowed  easily  at  first, 

But  every  time  extracted  with  more  pain 

From  the  strong  griping  clutch  of  usury. 

But  all  the  while,  unwitting  of  the  truth. 

Without  the  faintest  shadow  of  distrust 

Of  his  friend's  prudence,  care,  or  honesty, 

Taking  whatever  share  of  happiness 

He  gave  him  with  an  absolute  content. 

Tranquil  the  Abyssinian  King  remained. 

Confiding  and  delighted  as  a  child. 

"At  last  the  hour  came  on,  though  long  delayed. 
When  the  bare  fact  before  the  Merchant's  eyes 

*  Our  champagne  is  the  favourite  sherbet  of  the  East. 


THE  SYRIAN'S  STORY.  225 


Stood  out,  that  he  Avas  ruined  without  hope  ! 

What  could  be  done  ?     Not  only  for  himself, 

But  for  his  friend,  that  poor  deluded  King, 

Become  an  useless  burthen  on  his  hands  ? 

He  knew  his  doors,  that  guests  so  lately  thronged, 

Would  soon  be  thronged  as  thick  with  creditors ; 

And  he  himself,  by  law,  be  forced  to  pay 

In  person,  where  he  had  no  gold  to  give : 

He  must  escape  that  very  hour — but  how  ? 

Without  one  good  piastre  to  defray 

His  cost  upon  the  road,  or  bribe  the  porters 

To  set  his  creditors  on  some  false  scent. 

Then  rose  a  thought  within  him,  and,  it  seemed. 

Was  gladly  welcomed  by  a  sudden  start. 

And  a  half-cruel,  half-compassionate,  smile. 

For  straight  he  sought  the  Abyssinian  King, 

Whom  he  found  watching  with  a  quiet  smile 

The  gold  fish  in  the  fountain  gleam  and  glide. 

He  led  him,  ever  ductile,  by  the  hand 

Down  many  streets  into  a  close-built  court 

Where  sat  together  many  harsh-browed  men. 

Whom  he  accosted  thus  :     '  Friends,  I  want  gold  ; 

Here  is  a  slave  I  brought  with  me  last  year 

From  Abyssinia ;  he  is  stout  and  strong. 

And,  but  for  some  strange  crotchets  in  his  head 

Of  his  own  self-importance  and  fond  dreams, 

Which  want  a  little  waking  now  and  then 

By  means  that  you  at  least  know  well  to  use, 

VOL.  I.  Q 


226  THE  KIOSK. 


A  trusty  servant  and  long-headed  man ; 

Take  him  at  your  own  price — -I  have  no  time 

To  drive  a  bargain.'     '  Well,  so  much,' — one  cried- 

'  So  much '  another.     '  Bring  your  purses  out, 

You  have  bid  most,  and  let  me  count  the  coin.' 

Dumb  as  a  rock  the  Abyssinian  King, 

Gathering  the  meaning  of  the  villany. 

Stood  for  a  while  ;  then,  in  a  frantic  burst, 

Rushed  at  his  base  betrayer,  who,  his  arm 

Avoiding,  gathered  up  his  gold  and  fled : 

And  the  slave-merchant,  as  a  man  to  whom 

All  wild  extremities  of  agony 

Were  just  as  common  as  his  daily  bread, 

Shouted,  and  like  a  felon  in  a  cage 

The  King  was  soon  forced  down  by  many  hands. 

"  None  know  what  afterwards  became  of  him  : 
Haply  he  died,  as  was  the  best  for  him ; 
And,  but  that  the  false  Merchant,  proud  of  crime. 
Oft  told  the  story  as  a  good  device 
And  laughable  adventure  of  his  craft, 
The  piteous  fate  of  that  deluded  King 
Had  been  as  litde  known  to  anyone 
As  to  the  subjects  of  his  distant  realm. 
Who  still,  perchance,  expect  their  Lord's  return. 
Laden  with  all  the  wealth  of  Eastern  lands." 


THE  SYRIAN'S  STORY.  227 

'Twas  strange  to  see  how  upon  different  minds 
The  Syrian's  tale  with  different  meanings  fell. 
One  moralised  of  the  vicissitudes 
Of  mortal  greatness,  how  the  spider's  web 
Is  just  as  safe  from  harm  and  violence 
As  the  bright-woven  destiny  of  kings. 
Another  cursed  the  Merchant  for  his  deed  : 
And  a  third  laughed  aloud  and  laughed  again, 
Considering  the  strange  contrast  of  the  pomp 
Of  that  departure  from  a  regal  throne 
And  grand  commission  of  so  many  powers. 
With  the  condition  of  a  kennelled  slave  ; 
For  true  it  is,  that  nothing  moves  to  mirth 
More  than  the  gap  that  fortune  often  leaps, 
Dragging  some  wretched  man  along  with  her. 

To  an  Egyptian  soldier,  scarred  and  bronzed. 
The  duty  of  narration  came  the  next : 
Who  said,  "  that  soldiers'  tales  were  out  of  place 
Told  in  calm  places  and  at  evening  hours  : 
His  songs  required  the  music  of  the  gun  : 
He  could  recount  a  thousand  desperate  feats, 
Hair-breadth  escapes  and  miracles  of  war, 
Were  he  but  cowering  round  a  low  watch-fire 
Almost  in  hearing  of  the  enemy  ; 
But  now  his  blood  was  cold,  and  he  was  dull, 
And  even  had  forgot  his  own  wild  past. 
They  all  had  heai-d — had  East  and  ^^'est  not  heard 


228  THE  KIOSK. 


Of  Mehemet  Ali  and  of  Ibrahim  ? 

It  might  be  that  the  Great  Pasha  was  great, 

But  he  was  fond  of  trade — of  getting  gold, 

Not  by  fair  onslaught  and  courageous  strength. 

But  by  mean  interchange  with  other  lands 

Of  produce  better  in  his  own  consumed  ; 

This  was  like  treason  to  a  soldier's  heart ; 

And  all  he  hoped  was  that  when  Ibrahim 

Sat  in  his  father's  seat,  he  would  destroy 

Tliat  flight  of  locusts — Jew,  and  Greek,  and  Frank, 

Who  had  corrupted  Egypt  and  her  power, 

By  all  their  mercenary  thoughts  and  acts, 

And  sent  him  there,  brave  soldier  as  he  was, 

To  go  beg  service  at  the  Sultan's  hand. 

Yet  Ibrahim's  heart  was  still  a  noble  one ; 

No  man  could  contradict  him  and  not  fear 

Some  awful  vengeance ; — was  this  story  known  ?  " 

THE    EGYPTIAN'S    STORY. 

"  Once,  when  in  Syria  he  had  let  war  loose. 
And  was  reducing,  under  one  strong  sway. 
Druses,  and  Christians,  and  Mohammedans, 
He  heard  that  his  lost  child,  the  favourite 
Bom  of  a  favourite  wife,  had  been  let  fall 
By  a  young  careless  Nubian  nurse,  and  hurt, 
So  as  to  cripple  it  through  all  its  days. 
No  word  of  anger  jjassed  the  warrior's  lips, — 


THE  EGYPTIAN'S  STORY.  229 

No  one  would  think  the  story  on  his  mind 

Rested  a  single  moment.     But  due  time 

Brought  round  his  glad  return,  and  he  once  more 

Entered  his  hall,  within  which,  on  each  side, 

Long  marble  stairs  curved  towards  the  balcony. 

Where  right  and  left  the  women's  chambers  spread  ; 

Upon  the  landing  stood  the  glad  Hareem 

'Yq  welcome  him  with  music,  shouts,  and  songs  ; 

Yet  he  would  not  ascend  a  single  step. 

But  cried — '  Where  is  the  careless  Nubian  girl 

That  let  my  child  fall  on  the  stony  ground  ? ' 

Trembling  and  shrieking  down  one  marble  flight 

She  was  pushed  forward,  till  she  reached  the  floor : 

Then  Ibrahim  caught  her  in  one  giant  grasp, 

Dragged  her  towards  him,  and  one  brawny  hand 

Tight-twisting  in  her  long  and  glossy  hair, 

And  with  the  other  drawing  the  sharp  sword 

Well  known  at  Nezib  and  at  Koniah, 

Sheer  from  her  shoulders  severed  the  young  head, 

And  casting  it  behind  him,  at  few  bounds 

Cleared  the  high  stair  and  to  his  bosom  pressed 

The  darling  wife  his  deed  had  just  reveng'd. 

O  !  he  is  god-like  in  his  hour  of  rage  ! 

His  wrath  is  like  the  plague  that  falls  on  man 

With  indiscriminate  fury,  and  for  this 

His  name  is  honoured  through  the  spacious  East, 

Where  all  things  powerful  meet  their  just  reward." 


210  THE    KIOSK. 


The  Soldier  paused ;  and  surely  some  one  else 
Had  taken  up  the  burden  of  a  tale ; 
l>ut  at  that  moment  through  the  cypress  stems 
Shot  the  declining  crimson  of  the  sun 
]''ull  on  the  faces  of  that  company, 
Who  for  some  instants  in  deep  silence  watched 
The  last  appearance  of  the  ruddy  rim, 
And,  little  needing  the  clear  warning  voice 
Which  issued  round  the  neighbouring  minaret, — 
Bidding  all  earthly  thoughts  and  interests 
Sink  in  their  breasts  as  sunk  that  fiery  sun — ■ 
Bowed,  old  and  young,  their  heads  in  blest  accord, . 
Believers  in  one  Prophet  and  one  God  ! 


THE    TENT.  231 


THE    TENT. 

Why  should  a  man  raise  stone  and  wood 

Between  him  and  the  sky  ? 
Why  should  he  fear  the  brotherhood 

Of  all  things  from  on  high  ? 
Why  should  a  man  not  raise  his  form 

As  shelterless  and  free 
As  stands  in  sunshine  or  in  storm 

The  mountain  and  the  tree  ? 

Or  if  we  thus,  as  creatures  frail 

Before  our  time  should  die, 
And  courage  and  endurance  fail 

Weak  Nature  to  supply ; — 
Let  us  at  least  a  dwelling  choose, 

The  simplest  that  can  keep 
From  parching  heat  and  noxious  dews 

Our  pleasure  and  our  sleep. 

The  Fathers  of  our  mortal  race. 
While  still  remembrance  nursed 

Traditions  of  the  glorious  place 
Whence  Adam  fled  accursed, — 


232  THE    TENT. 


Rested  in  tents,  as  best  became 
Children,  whose  mother  earth 

Had  overspread  with  sinful  shame 
The  beauty  of  her  birth. 

In  cold  they  sought  the  sheltered  nook, 

In  heat  the  airy  shade, 
And  oft  their  casual  home  forsook 

The  morrow  it  was  made  ; 
Diverging  many  separate  roads, 

They  wandered,  fancy-driven. 
Nor  thought  of  other  fixed  abodes 

Than  Paradise  or  Heaven. 

And  while  this  holy  sense  reniained, 

'Mid  easy  shepherd  cares. 
In  tents  they  often  entertained 

The  Angels  unawares  : 
And  to  their  spirits'  fervid  gaze 

The  mystery  was  revealed. 
How  the  world's  wound  in  future  davs 

Should  by  God's  love  be  healed. 

Thus  we,  so  late  and  far  a  link 

Of  generation's  chain. 
Delight  to  dwell  in  tents,  and  think 

The  old  world  young  again ; 


THE    TENT.  233 


With  Faith  as  wide  and  Thought  as  narrow- 
As  theirs,  who  Httle  more 

From  hfe  demanded  than  the  sparrow 
Gay-chirping  by  the  door. 

Tlie  Tent  !  how  easily  it  stands, 

Ahiiost  as  if  it  rose 
Spontaneous  from  the  green  or  sand, 

Express  for  our  repose  : 
Or,  rather,  it  is  we  who  p'ant 

This  root,  where'er  we  roam. 
And  hold,  and  can  to  others  grant, 

I'he  comforts  of  a  home. 

Make  the  Divan — the  carpets  spread, 

The  ready  cushions  pile  ; 
Rest,  weary  heart !  rest,  weary  head  ! 

From  pain  and  pride  awhile  : 
And  all  your  happiest  memories  woo, 

And  mingle  with  your  dreams 
The  yellow  desert  glimmering  througli 

The  subtle  veil  of  beams. 

We  all  have  much  we  would  forget — 

Be  that  forgotten  now  ! 
And  placid  Hope,  instead,  shall  set 

Her  seal  upon  your  brow  : 


234  THE    TENT. 


Imagination's  prophet  eye 

By  her  shall  view  unfurled 
The  future  greatnesses  that  lie 

Hid  in  the  Eastern  world. 

To  slavish  tyrannies  tlieir  term 

Of  terror  she  foretells  ; 
She  brings  to  bloom  the  faith  whose  germ 

In  Islam  deeply  dwells  ; 
Accomplishing  each  mighty  birth 

That  shall  one  day  be  born 
From  marriage  of  the  western  earth 

With  nations  of  the  morn  ! 

Then  fold  the  Tent — then  on  again ; 

One  spot  of  ashen  black, 
The  only  sign  that  here  has  lain 

The  traveller's  recent  track  : 
And  gladly  forward,  safe  to  find 

At  noon  and  eve  a  home, 
Till  we  have  left  our  Tent  behind, 

The  homeless  ocean-foam  1 


THE  BURDEN  OF  EGYPT.  235 


THE    BURDEN    OF    EGYPT. 

Ol'k  land  is  the  temple  of  the  world,  hut  Egypt  will  be  forsiken,  and  the 
land  which  was  once  the  seat  of  the  divinity  will  be  void  of  religion.  Then 
this  holy  seat  will  be  full  of  idolatry,  idols'  temples,  and  dead  men's  tombs. 
()  Egypt !  there  will  remain  only  a  faint  show  of  thy  religion,  not  believed 
by  posterity,  and  nought  but  the  letters  engraven  on  thy  pillars  will  declare 
thy  pious  deeds.  The  divinity  will  fly  to  heaven,  and  Egypt  will  be  forsaken 
by  God  and  man.  I  call  upon  Thee,  most  holy  River  I  I  foretell  unto  Thee 
wliat  will  come  to  pass.  Thy  waters  and  holy  streams  will  be  filled  with 
bliiod,  and  will  overflow  thy  banks,  so  that  the  dead  will  be  more  numerous 
than  the  living  ;  and  he  that  remains  alive  will  be  known  to  be  an  E^ypti^n 
only  by  his  language,  but  in  his  deeds  he  will  seem  a  barbarian. 

Hermes  Trismegisti's. 


I. 

After  the  phantasies  of  many  a  night, 
After  the  deep  desires  of  many  a  day, 
Rejoicing  as  an  ancient  Eremite 
Upon  the  Desert's  edge  at  last  I  lay : 
Before  me  rose,  in  wonderful  array. 
Those  works  where  man  has  rivalled  Nature  most, 
Those  Pyramids,  that  fear  no  more  decay 
Than  waves  inflict  upon  the  rockiest  coast. 
Or  winds  on  mountain-steeps,  and  like  endurance  boast. 


II. 


Fragments  the  deluge  of  old  Time  has  left 
Behind  it  in  its  subsidence — long  Walls 


236  rilE  BURDEN  OF  EGYPT. 


Of  cities  of  their  very  names  bereft — 
Lone  Columns,  remnants  of  majestic  halls, — 
Rich-traceried  chambers,  where  the  night-dew  falls, — 
All  have  I  seen  with  feelings  due,  I  trow, 
Yet  not  with  such  as  these  memorials 
Of  the  great  unremembered,  that  can  show 
The  mass  and  shape  they  wore  four  thousand  years 


ago. 


III. 


The  screaming  Arabs  t  left  me  there  alone, 
Hoping  small  gain  from  one  who  silent  dreamed ; 
Till  o'er  the  sand  each  solemn  shadow  thrown 
Like  that  of  Etna  to  my  fancy  seemed, 
"While  in  the  minaretted  distance  gleamed 
Purple  and  faint-green  relics  of  the  day. 
And  the  warm  air  grew  chill,  and  then  I  deemed 
I  saw  a  Shape  dark-lined  against  the  gray 
Slowly  approach  my  couch,  but  whence  I  could  not  say. 


IV. 


The  starry  beauty  of  its  earnest  gaze 

The  heavenly  nature  of  that  form  revealed, 

*  I  cannot  here  enter  into  chronological  arguments,  but  I  may  mention 
that  the  scliemes  of  Egyptian  history,  that  give  it  the  largest  field  of  time, 
seem  to  me  the  most  probable. 

t  The  noise  of  the  Arabs  is  the  greatest  drawback  to  the  pleasure  of  an 
excursion  to  the  Pyramids — most  disagreeable  f/rtw«/  besetting  you  on  every 
side  and  in  numbers  that  renders  resistance  impossible. 


THE  BURDEN  OF  EGYPT.  237 

Seen  through  the  dimness  of  the  evening  haze, 
That  magnified  the  figure  it  concealed  : 
It  was  the  Genius  who  has  trust  to  wield 
The  destinies  of  this  our  living  hour, 
\\\-\o  wills  not  that  the  studious  heart  should  shield 
Itself  from  the  requirements  of  his  power, 
Or  seek  a  selfish  rest,  whatever  tempests  lour. 


Just  at  that  moment,  o'er  the  stony  East 
An  arch  of  crimson  radiance  caught  my  sight. 
That  gradually  expanded  and  increast. 
Till  the  large  moon  arose — and  all  was  light ! 
Then  I  beheld  advancing  opposite 
Another  Shape,  to  which  the  Genius  turned 
As  with  a  look  of  anger  and  despite. 
While  with  a  curious  eagerness  I  burned. 
And  marked  the  Shape  as  one  that  much  my  weal 
concerned. 


VI. 

It  was  a  female  Form — divinely  tall, 
Yet  somewhat  bowed,  as  by  invisible  weight, 
A  face  whose  pallor  almost  might  appal, 
Had  not  the  charm  of  features  been  so  great 
Her  gathered  amice,  like  the  web  of  fate, 


238  THE  BURDEN  OF  EGYPT. 


Was  party-coloured,  and  her  forehead  bound 
With  such  gold-work  as  fairies  fabricate 
In  flowery  cells,  and  stamp  with  letters  round 
That  mock  the  learned  sage  and  foolish  eyes  astound. 


VII. 


But  passing  by  her  without  word  or  sign 
The  first  came  straight  to  me  and  looked  awhile, 
And  laid  his  hand  affectionately  on  mine. 
And  veiled  his  sternness  with  a  gentle  smile : 
Making,  by  some  unutterable  wile, 
The  homely  duties  I  could  hardly  prize, 
And  occupations  I  had  left  as  vile, 
Rise  to  my  conscience  like  domestic  ties. 
For  which  my  soul  was  bound  all  else  to  sacrifice. 


VIII. 


"  Thou  that  art  born  into  this  favoured  age, 
So  fertile  in  all  enterprise  of  thought, 
Bound  in  fresh  mental  conflicts  to  cnsjaffe 
The  liberties  for  which  your  fathers  fought, — 
Be  not  thy  spirit  contemplation-fraught. 
Musing  and  mourning  !     Thou  must  act  and  move, 
Must  teach  your  children  more  than  ye  were  taught, 
Brighten  intelligence,  disseminate  love. 
And,  through  the  world  around,  make  way  to  worlds 
above. 


THE  BURDEN  OF  EGYPT.  239 

IX. 

"  The  total  surface  of  this  sphered  earth 
Is  now  surveyed  by  philosophic  eyes  ; 
Nor  East  nor  West  conceals  a  secret  worth — 
In  the  wide  Ocean  no  Atlantis  lies  : 
Nations  and  men,  that  would  be  great  and  wise, 
Thou  knowest,  can  do  no  more  than  men  have  done; 
No  wondrous  impulse,  no  divine  surprise, 
Can  bring  this  planet  nearer  to  the  sun, — 
Civilisation's  prize  no  royal  road  has  won. 

X. 

"  So  not  to  distant  people,  to  far  times, 
Turn  mind  and  heart,  life's  honest  artisan  ! 
Seek  not  miraculous  virtues,  mighty  crimes, 
Making  a  demon  or  a  god  of  man  : 
Deem  not  that  ever,  wide  as  mind  can  scan, 
He  has  been  better  in  the  mass  than  now, 
A  thing  of  wider  intellectual  span, 
A  creature  of  more  elevated  brow, 
A  being  Hope  has  right  more  richly  to  endow." 

XI. 

Thus  in  clear  language,  not  without  reproof. 
The  Spirit  of  the  Present,  eagle-eyed, 
Conjured  me  not  to  lie  in  thought  aloof 
From  actual  life,  casting  my  fancy  wide  : 


240  THE  BURDEN  OF  EGYPT. 

I  know  not  what  my  tongue  confused  replied  ; 
But  she  to  whom  my  anxious  looks  appealed, 
Now  seated  near  in  tutelary  pride, 
Spoke  firmly  for  me,  and  would  nowise  yield 
A  cause  she  felt  at  heart,  and  on  so  fair  a  field. 

XII. 

She  cried,  "  I  am  the  Past !  "  and  I  inherit 
Some  rights  and  powers  that  thou  canst  not  dethrone. 
Therefore,  unresting  and  untiring  Spirit, 
Thou  shalt  not  make  the  Poet  all  thine  own : 
Time  was  when  all  men  deemed  that  I  alone 
Was  chartered  his  bright  presence  to  possess, 
That  thou  in  heart  and  hand  wert  cold  as  stone, 
And  he  would  perish  in  thy  rude  caress, 
Strong  to  insult  and  crush,  but  impotent  to  bless. 

XIII. 

'■'•  But  things  are  changed  :  over  the  Poet's  soul 
No  more  my  sway  and  dignities  extend, — 
Thy  influences  now  his  moods  control. 
If  yet  my  lover,  he  is  more  thy  friend  : 
But,  since  his  errant  footsteps  hither  tend, 
Some  little  while  by  me  he  must  remain, 
Some  little  while  beneath  my  memories  bend. 
And,  when  he  hath  full-stored  his  eager  brain, 
He  shall  return  and  be  thy  servitor  again. 


THE  BURDEN  OF  EGYPT.  241 

XIV. 

"  And  surely  here  I  claim  but  what  I  ought 
In  this  my  holiest  place,  my  special  shrine, 
My  Land  of  Egj'jjt !  where  the  human  thought 
Is  linked  to  Chaos  and  the  light  divine, 
Disparting  darkness — led  from  line  to  line 
Of  regal  generations  deep  engraved, 
Or  richly  wrought  in  hieroglyphic  sign, 
On  Palaces,  Tombs,  Temples,  that  have  saved 
Their  beauty  through  such  storms  as  rocks  have  hardly 
bra\ed. 

XV. 

"  Here  Fancy  bows  to  Truth  :  Eldest  of  Time, 
Child  of  the  world's  fresh  morning,  Egypt  saw 
These  Pyramids  rise  gradually  sublime. 
And  eras  pass,  whose  records,  as  with  awe, 
Nature  has  willed  from  History  to  withdraw ; 
Yet  learn,  that  on  these  stones  has  Abraham  gazed, 
These  regions  round  acknowledged  Joseph's  law, 
That  obelisk*  from  granite  bed  was  raised. 
Ere  Moses  in  its  shade  sat  .and  Jehovah  praised. 

XVI. 

"  This  Nile  was  populous  with  floatir^g  life 
For  ages  ere  the  Argo  swept  the  seas, 

•  At  Hieropolis. 
VOL.    I.  R 


242  THE  BURDEN  OF  EGYPT. 

Ere  Helen  woke  the  fires  of  Grecian  strife 
Thebes  had  beheld  a  hundred  dynasties  : 
And  when  the  Poet,  whom  all  grandeurs  please, 
Named  her  the  Hundred-gated*  and  the  Queen 
Of  earthly  cities,  she  had  reached  the  lees 
Of  her  large  cup  of  glory,  and  was  seen 
Image  and  type  of  what  her  perfect  pride  had  been. 


xvn. 

"Here  Greece,  so  often  hailed  progenitrix 

Of  mortal  wisdom,  nurse  of  ancient  lore, 

First  skilled  the  ideal  beautiful  to  fix 

In  plastic  forms  that  shall  not  perish  more, 

Seems  a  pretender,  who  astutely  bore 

O'er  his  young  locks  a  show  of  reverent  grey, — 

And   Rome,   whose  greatness   thou   couldst   once 

adore, 
Appears,  with  all  her  circumstance  of  sway, 
A  mere  familiar  face,  a  thing  of  yesterday. 


XVIII. 

"  Thus  recognise  that  here  the  Past  is  all, 
And  Thou,  the  Present,  nothing  :  no  display 


*  That  is,  with  the  hundred  temples:  there  was  no  wall  round  Thebes, 
therefore  no  gates ;  but  the  Pylones,  or  massive  gates  of  the  Temples,  were 
evidently  the  object  of  foreign  astonishment  and  admiration. 


THE  BURDEN  OF  EGYPT.  243 

Of  intellectual  vigour  can  appal 
Me,  who  can  count  the  ages  as  a  day : 
But  lest  thy  subtle  words  should  lead  astray 
Him,  who  to  me  commits  his  heart  awhile. 
Depart  to  thine  own  kingdoms  far  away  ; 
And  we  with  grave  delight  will  days  beguile 
Of  wintr}'   name,  but   blest  with   summer's  blandest 
smile." 


XIX. 

So  \vere  we  left,  the  Past  and  I  together ; 
But  how  wise  converse  did  itself  unfold. 
And  how  we  breathed  in  that  delicious  weather 
Whose  balm  was  never  hurt  by  heat  or  cold, 
And  how  the  scrolls  of  Nature  were  uprolled 
Before  me  in  that  sacred  company, 
Are  jv'hat  can  never  in  such  words  be  told 
As  may  seem  worthy  the  reality  : 
Faint  are  the  shades  I  give  of  what  was  given  to  me. 


XX. 

O  Thou  beneficent  and  bounteous  stream  ! 
Thou  Patriarch  River  !  on  whose  ample  breast 
We  dwelt  the  time  that  full  at  once  could  seem 
Of  busiest  travel  and  of  softest  rest : 
No  wonder  that  thy  being  was  so  blest 

R  2 


244  THE  BURDEN  OF  EGYPT. 

That  gratitude  of  old  to  worship  grew, 
That  as  a  living  God  Thou  wert  addrest,* 
And  to  itself  the  immediate  agent  drew 
To  one  creative  power  the  feelings  only  due. 

XXI. 

For  in  thy  title  and  in  Nature's  truth 
Thou  art  and  makest  Eg^^Dt  :t  were  thy  source 
But  once  arrested  in  its  bubbling  youth, 
Or  turned  extravagant  to  some  new  course, 
By  a  fierce  crisis  of  convulsive  force, 
Egypt  would  cease  to  be — the  intrusive  sand 
Would  smother  its  rich  fields  without  remorse, 
And  scarce  a  solitary  palm  would  stand 
To  tell,  that  barren  vale  was  once  the  wealthiest  land. 


XXII. 

Scarce  with  more  certain  order  waves  the  Sun 
His  matin  banners  in  the  Eastern  sky, 
Than  at  the  reckoned  period  are  begun 
Thy  operations  of  fertility ; 

*  In  the  oldest  form  of  Egyptian  theology  of  which  we  have  cognizance, 
the  Nile  is  a  God,  and  the  phrase  "  the  proper  rising  of  the  God,"  is  found 
on  the  tablet  in  front  of  the  sphynx  erected  iinier  Nero  :  the  Egyptian  theo- 
logians also  imagined  divisions  in  Heaven  similar  to  those  of  earth,  and  could 
conceive  no  Paradise  without  a  celestial  Nile. 

t  The  Egypt  of  Homer  is  the  river  not  the  country :  all  the  other  Greek 
names  of  Egypt  are  derived  from  the  Nile  :  its  Coptic  name  was  Phiaro — 
hence  probably  Pharaoh.  In  somewhat  the  same  sense  is  India  derived  from 
the  Indus. 


THE  BURDEN  OF  EGYPT.  245 

Through  the  long  sweep  thy  bosom  swelling  high 
Expands  between  the  sandy  mountain  chains, 
The  walls  of  Libya  and  of  Araby, 
Till  in  the  active  virtue  it  contains 
The  desert  bases  sink  and  rise  prolific  plains. 

XXIII. 

See  through  the  naked  length  no  blade  of  grass, 
No  animate  sign  relieves  the  dismal  strand, 
Such  it  miglit  seem  our  orb's  first  substance  was, 
Ere  touched  by  God  with  generative  hand  ; 
Yet  at  one  step  we  reach  the  teeming  land 
Lying  fresh-green  beneath  the  scorching  sun, 
As  succulent  as  if  at  its  command' 
It  held  all  rains  that  fall,  all  brooks  that  run, 
And  this,  O  generous  Nile  !  is  thy  vast  benison. 

XXIV. 

Whence  comest  Thou,  so  marvellously  dowered 
As  never  other  stream  on  earth  beside  ? 
Where  are  thy  founts  of  being,  thus  empowered 
To  form  a  nation  by  their  annual  tide  ? 
The  charts  are  silent ;  history  guesses  wide ; 
Adventure  from  thy  quest  returns  ashamed  ; 
And  each  new  age,  in  its  especial  pride. 
Believes  that  it  shall  be  as  that  one  named. 
In  which  to  all  mankind  thy  birth-place  was  proclaimed. 


246  THE  BURDEN  OF  EGYPT. 

XXV. 

Though  Priests  upon  thy  banks,  mysterious  Water ! 
Races  of  men  in  lofty  knowledge  schooled, 
Though  warriors,  winning  fame  through  shock  and 

slaughter, 
Sesostris  to  Napoleon,  here  have  ruled  : 
Yet  has  the  secret  of  thy  sources  fooled 
The  monarch's  strength,  the  labours  of  the  wise, 
And,  though  the  world's  desire  has  never  cooled, 
Our  practised  vision  little  more  descries 
Than  old  Herodotus  beheld  with  simple  eyes.""' 

XXVI. 

And  now  in  Eg}'pt's  late  degraded  day, 
A  venerating  love  attends  thee  still, 
And  the  poor  Fellah,  from  thee  torn  away, 
Feels  a  strange  yearning  his  rude  bosom  fill ; 
Like  the  remembered  show  of  lake  and  hill. 
That  wrings  the  Switzer's  soul,  though  fortune  smile, 
Thy  mirage  haunts  him,  uncontrolled  by  will, 
And  wealth  or  war  in  vain  the  heart  beguile 
That  clings  to  its  mud-hut  and  palms,  beside  the  Nile. 

*  In  all  probability  the  Nile  has  no  one  particular  source,  but  is  created  by 
the  convergence  of  many  small  streams,  like  the  'J'hames  and  the  Rhone.  We 
have  an  excellent  v  ndication  for  our  geographical  ignorance  on  this  point  in 
that  of  Pliny,  with  regard  to  the  Rhine.  Hundreds  of  years  after  the  first 
passage  of  the  river  by  Roman  troops,  he  writes  "that  the  Rhine  takes  its 
rise  in  the  most  hidden  parts  of  the  earth,  in  a  region  of  perpetual  night, 
amidst  forests  for  ever  inaccessible  to  human  footsteps  "  (iii.  24J.  The  source 
of  the  Iser  seems,  too,  to  have  been  equally  undiscovered. 


THE  BURDEN  OF  EGYPT.  247 

XXVIL 

The  Palm  !  the  Princess  of  the  Sylvan  race ; 
When  islanded  amid  the  level  green, 
Or  charming  the  wild  desert  with  her  grace, 
The  only  verdure  of  the  sultry  scene  : 
Ever,  with  sunple  majesty  of  mien, 
No  other  growth  of  nature  can  assume, 
She  reigns — and  most  when,  in  the  evening  sheen, 
The  stable  column  and  the  waving  plume 
Shade  the  delicious  lights  that  all  around  allume. 

XXVI 1 1. 

Yet  this  fair  family's  most  lofty  peers 
Are  dwarfed  and  stunted  to  the  traveller's  eye, 
When  by  them  its  enormous  bulk  uprears 
Some  antique  work  of  pomp  or  piety, — 
Columns  that  may  in  height  and  girth  defy 
The  sturdiest  oaks  that  British  glades  adorn, 
Or  chesnuts  on  the  slopes  of  Sicily, — 
And  walls  that  when,  by  time,  to  fragments  torn. 
Still  look  like  towering  cliffs  by  mountain-torrents  worn, 

XXIX. 

'Twould  seem  as  if  some  people  that  had  held 
Their  pristine  seat  in  lands  of  stony  hill 
Once  from  their  ancient  boundaries  outswelled, 
And  took  these  vales  to  conquer  and  to  till : 


248  THE  BURDEN  OF  EGYPT. 


So,  where  the  memory  and  tradition  still 
Of  temples  cut  in  living  rocks  remains, 
This  one  Idea  the  artists'  breasts  might  fill, 
^Vho  built  amid  the  Nile's  alluvial  plains, 
First, to  erect  the  Rocks  and  then  work  out  the  Fanes. 

XXX. 

Nor,  when  the  architect's  presiding  thought 
Stood  out  in  noble  form,  solid  and  clear, 
Was  all  the  hieratic  purpose  wrought, 
Or  sacred  objects  their  completion  near  : 
For  giant  shapes  of  beauty  and  of  fear 
Must  make  each  part  for  open  worship  fit, 
And  mystic  language,  known  to  priest  and  seer, 
In  very  volumes  on  the  walls  be  writ. 
Whose  serlse  is  late  revealed  to  searching  modern  wit. 

XXXI. 

Within — without — no  little  space  is  lost. 
Though  hardly  obvious  to  a  stranger  eye ; 
With  lavish  labour  and  uncounted  cost 
Is  overlaid  each  nook  of  masonry ; 
No  base  too  deep — no  architrave  too  high 
For  these  weird  records  of  a  nation's  lore. 
And  early  pride,  that  yearned  to  deify 
The  names  and  titles  that  their  monarchs  bore — 
That  what  they  loved  and  feared  their  children  might 
adore. 


THE  BURDEN  OF  EGYPT.  249 

XXXII. 

Thus  the  Eternal  Trinities,'"  whose  birth 
Is  in  the  primal  reason  of  mankind, 
Were  mingled  with  the  mighty-  of  the  earth, 
To  whom  was  given  the  trust  to  loose  and  bind 
The  destinies  of  nations  :  thus  behind 
The  God,  came  close  the  great  victorious  King  ; 
Till  with  the  regal  image  were  combined 
All  the  dim  thoughts  and  phantasies  that  cling 
Round  power,  for  power's  own  sake,  as  round  a  sacred 
thing,  t 

XXXIII. 

But  walls,  once  stedfast  as  their  base  of  rock. 
Have  crumbled  into  heaps  o'er  which  we  climb, 
And  graceless  children  leap  from  block  to  block, 
The  spa\vn  of  Nature  on  the  graves  of  Time  : 
Into  the  tabernacle's  night  sublime, 
Through  the  long  fissures  curious  sunrays  peep ; 
Say  I  if  the  Priests,  w^ho  led  this  sacred  mime, 

*  The  earlier  Egyptians  arranged  their  gods  habitually  in  threes ;  when 
the  theology  got  confused,  the  groups  became  more  numerous  and  varied — 
just  as  new  characters  crept  into  the  hieroglyphics  and  the  titles  of  the  Kings 
within  the  ovals  became  much  longer. 

+  Throughout  Egyptian  history  the  King  is  divine  :  there  were  temples  in 
front  ol  tne  Pyramids,  and  the  Labyrinth  is  the  temple  of  another  dynasty  ; 
so  down  to  the  latest  and  basest  times.  The  most  contemptible  of  the  Pto- 
lemies is  on  his  coins — "  the  adorable  God ; "  and  Cleopatra,  on  her  later 
ones—"  the  younger  goddess." 


250  THE  BURDEN  OF  EGYPT. 

Could  loose  their  spicy  cerements  and  the  sleep 
Of  many  thousand  years, — say,  would  they  smile  or 
weep  ? 

XXXIV. 

If  that  religion  were  a  subtle  wile 
Dominion  over  feeble  minds  to  keep, 
If  'twere  in  truth  a  mime,  they  well  might  smile ; 
But  if  'twere  truth  itself,  they  well  might  weep  ; 
And  why  not  truth  itself?  truth  not  less  deep 
For  being  fragmentary, — though  a  gleam, 
Not  less  a  portion  of  the  fires  that  steep 
Mankind's  brute  matter  in  the  heavenly  stream, 
And   lead   to   waking    life   through   mazy  modes   of 
dream. 

XXXV. 

Theirs  was  the  sin  to  cumber  faith  with  fear — 
To  tremble  where  they  should  have  feared  and  loved; 
To  overlook  the  glory  close  and  near, 
And  only  reverence  it  in  space  removed ; 
Their  pride  of  wisdom  knew  not  it  behoved 
Man's  mind  to  worship  but  man's  heart  still  more. 
Nor  could  conceive  the  doctrine  thus  approved. 
When  far  away  from  Egypt  and  its  lore, 
Judaea's   race,   once   free,    the   world's   bright   future 
bore. 


THE  BURDEN  OF  EGYPT.  251 

XXXVI. 

For  right  to  mediate  between  God  and  man 
The  Art  of  Greece  long  combated  in  vain ; 
Far  earUer  here  was  shown  the  heavenly  plan 
How  Nature's  self  could  not  that  privilege  gain;* 
So  now  organic  life  can  scarce  obtain 
Its  recognition  of  divinity, — 
Past  like  the  godhead  of  the  Grecian  fane  : 
And  thus  we  know  Ideas  alone  can  be 
Idols  divine  enough  for  man's  high  destiny. 

XXXVII. 

Who  would  not  feel  and  satisfy  this  want, 
W'atching,  as  I,  in  Karnak's  roofless  halls, 
Subnuvolar  lights  of  evening  sharply  slant 
Through  pillared  masses  and  on  wasted  walls  ? 
Who  would  not  learn,  there  is  no  form  but  palls 
On  the  progressive  spirit  of  mankind. 
When  here  around  in  soulless  sorrow  falls 
That  which  seemed  permanence  itself,  designed 
To  rase  the  sense  of  death  from  out  all  human  mind. 

XXXVIII. 

For  near  the  temple  ever  lies  the  tomb. 
The  dwelling,  not  the  dungeon,  of  the  dead, 

*  "  The  Egyptians  thought  it  more  worthy  of  the  Gods  to  adore  them  in 
symbols  animated  by  their  creating  breath,  than  in  empty  images  of  inert 
matter;  they  regarded  the  inteUigence  of  animals  as  connecting  them  with 
Gods  and  men."— Chamiollion. 


252  THE  BURDEN  OF  EGYPT. 

Where  they  abide  in  glorifpng  gloom, 
In  lofty  chambers  with  rich  colours  spread, 
Vast  corridors,  all  carved  and  decorated 
For  entertainment  of  their  ghostly  lord. 
When  he  may  leave  his  alabaster  bed. 
And  see,  with  pleasure  earth  could  scarce  afford. 
These  subterranean  walls  his  power  and  wealth  record. 

XXXIX. 

Often  'twas  willed  this  splendour  should  be  sealed 
Not  only  from  profane  but  priestly  eyes. 
That  to  no  future  gaze  might  be  revealed 
The  secret  palace  where  a  Pharaoh  lies. 
Amid  his  world-enduring  obsequies ; 
And  though  we,  children  of  a  distant  shore. 
Here  search  and  scan,  yet  much  our  skill  defies ; 
One  chance  the  less,  some  grains  of  sand  the  more, 
And  never  had  been  found  that  vault's  mysterious  door.* 

XL. 

Not  without  cause  the  Persian's  brutal  hate 

The  regal  corpse  of  Amasis  profaned ; 

The  Arabs'  greed  would  hardly  venerate 

These  halls  of  death,  while  hope  of  gain  remained : 

*  e.g.  that  of  Osiris  I.,  discovered  by  a  happy  hazard  by  Belzoni,  and  from 
which  the  alabaster  coffin  was  taken,  now  in  Sir  J.  Soane's  museum.  1'he 
tombs  of  the  Thcban  kings,  as  yet  known,  are  confined  to  a  single  dynasty; 
there  must  be  somewhere  in  the  neighbourhood  the  sepultures  of  all  the  others, 
probably  equal  in  magnificence  and  interest. 


THE  BURDEN  OF  EGYPT.  253 

So  much  for  ages  with  base  passions  stained ; 
But  who  are  now  the  spoilers  ?     We,  even  we  ; 
Now  the  worst  fiends  of  ruin  are  unchained, 
That  sons  of  science  and  civihty 
May  bear  the  fragments  home,  beyond  the  midland 
sea.* 


XLI. 


Soon  will  these  miracles  of  eldest  art 
Be  but  as  quarries  hollowed  in  base  stone  ;  t 
Soon  will  the  tablets,  that  might  bear  their  part 
In  shedding  light  on  tracts  of  time  unknowTi 
Be  by  caprice  or  avarice  overthrown  ; 
While  worn  by  bitter  frost  of  northern  gloom 
The  obelisks  will  stand  defaced  and  lone,| 
And  god-like  effigies,  that  had  for  room 
The  Nile  and  Desert,  pine  in  narrow  prison-gloom. 


XLII. 

But  from  that  Theban  Kingdom  desolate 
Benevolent  winds,  opposing  the  swift  tide, 

*  "  I  have  travelled  through  Greece,  Egypt,  Nubia,  and  much  of  Asia 
Minor,  and  I  have  witnessed  much  destruction  of  monuments  ;  but  every- 
where the  injurers  were  Europeans,  the  pretext  science,  and  the  motive 
gain." — Prokesch. 

t  Unless  the  Pasha  will  have  doors  erected  and  watched,  and  all  pillage 
forbidden,  under  heavy  penalties :  the  figures  are  now  being  stripped  from 
the  walls  every  day. 

X  That  of  Luxor,  at  Paris,  has  already  lost  the  sharpness  of  the  edges. 


254  THE  BURDEN  OF  EGYPT. 

Imi)elled  me  onward,  nor  did  once  abate 
Till  the  strong  Cataract  checked  my  vessel's  pride  : 
How  happy  in  that  cool  bright  air  to  glide 
By  Esne,  Edfou,  Ombos  !  each  in  turn 
A  pleasure,  and  to  other  joys  a  guide  ; — 
Labourless  motion — yet  enough  to  earn 
Syene's  roseate  cliffs  *— Egypt's  romantic  bourn. 

XLIII. 

Tranquil  above  the  rapids,  rocks,  and  shoals, 
The  Tivoli  of  Egypt,  Philae  lies  ; 
No  more  the  frontier-fortress  that  controls 
The  rush  of  Ethiopian  enemies, — 
No  more  the  Isle  of  Temples  to  surprise, 
With  Hierophantic  courts  and  porticoes, 
The  simple  stranger,  but  a  scene  where  vies 
Dead  Art  with  living  Nature  to  compose 
For  that  my  pilgrimage  a  fit  and  happy  close. 

XLIV, 

There  I  could  taste  without  distress  of  thought 
The  placid  splendours  of  a  Nubian  night, 
The  sky  with  beautiful  devices  fraught 
Of  suns  and  moons  and  spaces  of  white  light : 

•  In  the  quarries  of  red  granite  at  Syene  may  be  seen  the  marks  of  the  tools 
employed  a  thousand  years  ago,  as  fresh  as  if  they  had  been  left  yestcrdny, 
and  the  form  of  an  obelisk  may  be  traced,  partially  dissevered  from  its  native 
rock. 


THE  BURDEN  OF  EGYPT.  255 


^Vhile  on  huge  gateways  rose  the  forms  of  Might, 
Awful  as  when  the  People's  heart  they  swayed, 
And  the  grotesque  grew  solemn  to  my  sight ; 
And  earnest  faces  thronged  the  colonnade, 
As  if  they  wailed  a  faith  forgotten  or  betrayed. 


XLV. 


There  too,  in  calmer  mood,  I  sent  aflight 
My  mind  through  realms  of  marvel  stretching  far, 
O'er  Abyssinian  Alps  of  fabled  height, 
O'er  Deserts  where  no  paths  or  guidance  are, 
Save  when,  by  pilotage  of  some  bright  star, 
As  on  the  ocean,  wends  the  caravan ;  * 
And  then  I  almost  mourned  the  mythic  bar 
That  in  old  times  along  that  frontier  ran, 
When  gods  came  down  to  feast  with  Ethiopian  man. 

XLVI. 

For  I  remember  races  numberless, 
Whom  still  those  latitudes  in  mystery  fold, 
And  asked,  what  does  the  Past,  my  monitress, 
For  them  within  her  genial  bosom  hold  ? 
Where  is  for  them  the  tale  oi  history  told  ? 
How  is  their  world  advancing  on  its  way  ? 
How  are  they  wiser,  better,  or  more  bold, 

*  Canopus,  the  ornament  of  the  Southern  hemisphere,  is  called  by  the 
Arabs,  "  the  caravan-seducer"-  a  large  caravan  having  been  lust  in  the  dcstrt 
by  the  driver  taking  it  for  Venus. 


256  THE  BURDEN  OF  EGYPT. 

That  they  were  not  created  yesterday  ? 
\Miy   are   we  life-taught  men,  why  poor  ephemerals 
they  ? 

XLVH. 

Present  and  Past  are  question'd  there  in  vain, 
And  hang  their  heads  unanswering :  there  in  fee 
The  Future  holds  her  absolute  domain, 
Empress  of  what  a  third  of  Earth  shall  be  : 
But  will  our  generations  live  to  see 
Plenty  through  those  unwatered  regions  reign, — 
Science  there  dwell  as  with  the  white  and  free, — 
To  gentle  thoughts  subside  the  heated  brain, — 
And  lawless  tribes  be  bound  in  Order's  sacred  chain : 

XLVIII. 

May  such  things  be  ?   Ask  him  who  hopes  and  prays 
Rather  than  reasons.     Good  men  have  not  quailed 
Before  the  problem  and  high  justice  weighs 
The  thoughts  that  prompted,  not  the  deeds  that  failed. 
What  matter  that  the  world  has  mocked  and  railed  ? 
What  matter  that  they  perish,  work  undone  ? 
The  prescience  of  such  souls  has  ever  hailed, 
Long  ere  the  dawn,  the  coming  of  the  sun, 
And,  may  be,  by  such  Faith  the  Light  itself  is  won. 


''a    TRAVELLER'S  IMPRESSION  O2V  THE  NILE.  257 


A   TRAVELLER'S  IMPRESSION   ON   THE 

NILE. 

When  you  have  lain  for  weeks  together 

On  such  a  noble  river's  breast, 
And  learnt  its  face  in  every  weather, 

And  loved  its  motions  and  its  rest, — 

'Tis  hard  at  some  appointed  place 

To  check  your  course  and  turn  your  prow, 

And  objects  for  themselves  retrace 
You  past  with  added  hope  just  now. 

The  silent  highway  forward  beckons, 
And  all  the  bars  that  reason  plants 

Now  disappointed  fancy  reckons 
As  foolish  fears  or  selfish  wants. 

The  very  rapids,  rocks,  and  shoals 

Seem  but  temptations  which  the  stream 

Holds  out  to  energetic  souls. 

That  worthy  of  its  love  may  seem. 

But  life  is  full  of  limits ;  heed  not 

One  more  or  less — the  forward  track 
May  often  give  you  what  you  need  not, 

While  wisdom  waits  on  turning  back. 

1844. 

VOL.    I.  S 


OTHER    SCENES. 


THE  RIVER  TRAUN. 


WRITTEN   IN   LOMBARDY. 


ITie  Traun  rises  in  the  mountains  of  Upper  Austria,  and  loses  itself  in  the 
Danube  above  Linz.  Its  course  is  remarkable  for  the  combination  of  the 
best  features  of  Alpine  scenery  with  the  grace  and  elegance  of  the  Southern 
landscape. 

My  heart  is  in  a  mountain  mood. 
Though  I  am  bound  to  tread  the  plain, 
She  will  away  for  ill  or  good, — 
I  cannot  lure  her  back  again  ; 
So  let  her  go, — God  speed  her  flight 
O'er  teeming  glebe  and  columned  town, 
I  know  that  she  will  rest  ere  night. 
By  the  remembered  banks  of  Traun, 

And  she  will  pray  her  sister  Muse, 
Sister,  companion,  friend,  and  guide. 
Her  every  art  and  grace  to  use, 
For  love  of  that  v/ell-cherished  tide  ; 
But  words  are  weak, — she  cannot  reach 
By  such  poor  steps  that  Beauty's  crown ; 
How  can  the  Muse  to  others  teach 
What  were  to  me  the  banks  of  Traun  ? 


THE    RIVER    TRAUM.  259 


Slie  can  repeat  the  faithful  tale 
That  "  where  thy  genial  waters  flow, 
All  objects  the  rare  crystal  hail, 
And  cast  their  voices  far  below ; 
And  there  the  stedfast  echoes  rest, 
Till  the  old  Sun  himself  goes  down, 
Till  darkness  falls  on  every  breast, 
Even  on  thine,  transparent  Traun  1 " 


And  she  can  say,  "  Where'er  thou  art, 
Brawling  'mid  rocks,  or  calm-embayed, 
Outpouring  thy  abundant  heart 
In  ample  lake  or  deep  cascade, — 
Whatever  dress  thy  sides  adorn, 
Fresh-dew>'  leaves  or  fir-stems  brown, 
Or  ruby-dripping  barbery  thorn. 
Thou  art  thyself,  delightful  Traun  ! 


"  No  glacier-mountains,  harshly  bold, 
Whose  peaks  disturb  the  summer  air. 
And  make  the  gentle  blue  so  cold, 
And  hurt  our  warmest  thoughts,  are  there ; 
But  upland  meadows,  lush  with  rills. 
Soft-green  as  is  the  love-bird's  down. 
And  quaintest  forms  of  pine-clad  hills. 
Are  thy  fit  setting,  jewelled  Traun  !  " 


s  2 


26o  OTHER    SCENES. 


But  the  wise  Muse  need  not  be  told, 
Though  fair  and  just  her  song  may  seem, 
The  same  has  oft  been  sung  of  old, 
Of  many  a  less  deserving  stream  ; 
For  where  would  be  the  worth  of  sight, 
If  Love  could  feed  on  blank  renown  ? 
They  who  have  loved  the  Traun  aright 
Have  sat  beside  the  banks  of  Traun. 


TO    AN    ENGLISH    LADY, 

WHO   HAD   SUNG   A   ROMAN    BALLAD. 

Blame  not  my  vacant  looks  ;  it  is  not  true, 
That  my  discourteous  thoughts  did  vainly  stray 
Out  of  the  presence  of  your  gentle  lay, 
While  other  eager  listeners  nearer  drew, 
Though  sooth  I  hardly  heard  a  note ;  for  you, 
Most  cunning  songstress,  did  my  soul  convey 
Over  the  fields  of  space,  far,  far  away. 
To  the  dear  garden-land,  where  long  it  grew. 
Thus,  all  that  time,  beneath  the  ilex  roof 
Of  an  old  Alban  hill,  I  lay  aloof, 
With  the  cicala  faintly  clittering  near, 
Till,  as  your  song  expired,  the  clouds  that  pass 
Athwart  the  Roman  plain,  as  o'er  a  glass. 
Thickened,  and  bade  the  vision  disappear. 


THE    CHURCH   OF    THE    MADELELYE.       261 


ON   THE   CHURCH    OF    THE   MADELEINE 

AT    PARIS. 


The  Attic  temple  Avhose  majestic  room 

Contained  the  presence  of  Olympian  Jove, 

With  smooth  Hymettus  round  it  and  above, 

Softening  the  splendour  by  a  sober  bloom, 

Is  yielding  fast  to  Time's  irreverent  doom ; 

While  on  the  then  barbarian  banks  of  Seine 

That  nobler  tjqoe  is  realised  again 

In  perfect  form,  and  dedicate — to  whom? 

To  a  poor  Syrian  girl,  of  lowliest  name, 

A  hapless  creature,  pitiful  and  frail 

As  ever  wore  her  life  in  sin  and  shame, — 

Of  whom  all  histor}^  has  this  single  tale, — 

"  She  loved  the  Christ,  she  wept  beside  his  grave. 

And  He,  for  that  Love's  sake,  all  else  forgave." 


II. 
If  one,  with  prescient  soul  to  understand 
The  working  of  this  world  beyond  the  day 
Ot  his  small  life,  had  taken  by  the  hand 
That  wanton  daughter  of  old  Magdala ; 


262  OTHER    SCENES. 

And  told  her  that  the  time  was  ripe  to  come 
When  she,  thus  base  among  the  base,  should  be 
More  served  than  all  the  Gods  of  Greece  and  Rome, 
IMore  honoured  in  her  holy  memory, — 
How   would   not   men  have  mocked   and  she  have 

scorned 
The  fond  Diviner? — Plausible  excuse 
Had  been  for  them,  all  moulded  to  one  use 
Of  feeling  and  of  thought,  but  We  are  warned 
By  such  ensamples  to  distrust  the  sense 
Of  Custom  proud  and  bold  Experience. 


III. 

Thanks  to  that  element  of  heavenly  things, 

That  did  come  down  to  earth,  and  there  confound 

!Most  sacred  thoughts  with  names  of  usual  sound, 

And  homeliest  life  with  all  a  Poet  sings. 

The  proud  Ideas  that  had  ruled  and  bound 

Our  moral  nature  were  no  longer  kings, 

Old  Power  grew  faint  and  shed  his  eagle-wings, 

And  grey  Philosophy  was  half  uncrowned. 

Love,  Pleasure's  child,  betrothed  himself  to  Pain; — 

Weakness,  and  Poverty,  and  Self-disdain, 

And  tranquil  sufferance  of  repeated  wrongs. 

Became  adorable ; — Fame  gave  her  tongues, 

And  Faith  her  hearts  to  objects  all  as  low 

As  this  lorn  child  of  infamy  and  woe. 


ON  REVISITING    CAMBRIDGE,  263 


ON    REVISITING    CAMBRIDGE, 

AFTER   A   LONG    ABSENXE   ON    THE   CONTINENT. 

Nor  few,  nor  poor  in  beauty,  niy  resorts 
In  foreign  climes, — nor  negligent  or  dull 
My  observation,  but  these  long-left  courts 
I  still  find  beautiful,  most  beautiful ! 
And  fairly  are  they  more  so  than  before  ; 
For  to  my  eye,  fresh  from  a  southern  land, 
They  wear  the  colouring  of  the  scenes  of  yore, 
And  the  old  Faith  that  made  them  here  to  stand, 
I  paint  the  very  students  as  they  were, 
Not  the  men-children  of  these  forward  davs, 
But  mild-eyed  boys  just  risen  from  tlieir  knees, 
While,  proud  as  angels  of  their  holy  care, 
Following  the  symbol-vested  priest,  they  raise 
The  full  response  of  antique  litanies. 


264  OTHER    SCENES. 


THE    SAME. 

I  HAVE  a  debt  of  my  heart's  own  to  Thee, 

School  of  my  Soul !  old  lime  and  cloister  shade, 

Which  I,  strange  suitor,  should  lament  to  see 

Fully  acquitted  and  exactly  paid  : 

The  first  ripe  taste  of  manhood's  best  delights, 

Knowledge  imbibed,  while  mind  and  heart  agree, 

In  sweet  belated  talk  on  winter  nights, 

With  friends  whom  growing  time  keeps  dear  to  me,- 

Such  things  I  owe  thee,  and  not  only  these  : 

I  owe  thee  the  far  beaconing  memories 

Of  the  young  dead,  who,  having  crossed  the  tide 

Of  Life  where  it  was  narrow,  deep,  and  clear, 

Now  cast  their  brightness  from  the  further  side 

On  the  dark-flowing  hours  I  breast  in  fear. 


ON   COWPER'S    GARDEN  AT   OLNEY.       265 


ON  COWPER'S  GARDEN  AT  OLNEY. 

From  this  forlornest  place,  at  morn  and  even, 
Issues  a  voice  imperative,  "  Begone, 
All  ye  that  let  your  vermin  thoughts  creep  on 
Beneath  the  unheeded  thunders  of  high  Heaven ; 
Nor  welcome  they,  who,  when  free  grace  is  given 
To  free  from  usual  life's  dominion, 
Soon  as  the  moving  scene  or  time  is  gone. 
Return,  like  penitents  unfitly  shriven. 
But  Ye,  who  long  have  wooed  the  memory 
Of  this  great  Victim  of  sublime  despair, 
Encompassed  round  with  evil  as  with  air, 
Yet  cr}ang,  '  God  is  good,  and  sinful  He,' — 
Remain,  and  feel  how  better  'tis  to  drink 
Of  Truth  to  Madness  even  than  shun  that  fountain's 
brink." 


266  OTHER    SCENES. 


ON   MILTON'S    COTTAGE,  AT    CHALFONT 
ST.  GILES, 

WHERE   HE   REMAINED   DURING  THE  GREAT   PLAGUE. 

Beneath  this  roof,  for  no  such  use  designed 

By  its  old  owners,  Fleetwood's  banished  race, 

Blind  Milton  found  a  healthful  resting-place, 

Leaving  the  city's  dark  disease  behind  : — 

Here,  too,  with  studies  noble  and  refined, 

As  with  fresh  air,  his  spirits  he  could  brace. 

And  grow  unconscious  of  the  time's  disgrace, 

And  the  fierce  plague  of  disappointed  mind. 

The  gracious  Muse  is  wont  to  build  for  most 

Of  her  dear  sons  some  pleasant  noontide  bower ; 

But  for  this  One  she  raised  a  home  of  fame, 

Where  he  dwelt  safe  through  life's  chill  evening  hour. 

Above  the  memo'ry  of  his  Hero  lost, 

His  martyred  brethren  and  his  countr}''s  shame. 


ANSWER    TO    WORDSWORTH'S   SONNET.    267 


ANSWER    TO 

WORDSWORTH'S    SONNET    AGAINST    THE 
KENDAL    AND    BOWNESS    RAILWAY. 

The  hour  may  come,  nay  must  in  tliese  our  days, 
When  the  swift  steam-car  with  the  cata'ract's  shout 
Shall  mingle  its  harsh  roll,  and  motley  rout 
Of  multitudes  these  mountain  echoes  raise. 
But  Thou,  the  Patriarch  of  these  beauteous  ways, 
Canst  never  grudge  that  gloomy  streets  send  out 
The  crowded  sons  of  labour,  care,  and  doubt. 
To  read  these  scenes  by  light  of  thine  own  lays. 
Disordered  laughter  and  encounters  rude 
The  Poet's  finer  sense  perchance  may  pain, 
But  many  a  glade  and  nook  of  solitude 
For  quiet  walk  and  thought  will  still  remain, 
Where  He  those  j)Oor  intruders  can  elude, 
Nor  lose  one  dream  for  all  their  homely  gain. 


268  OTHER    SCENES. 


TINTERN    ABBEY. 

The  Men  who  called  their  passion  piety, 

And  wrecked  this  noble  argosy  of  faith, — 

They  little  thought  how  beauteous  could  be  Death, 

How  fair  the  face  of  Time's  aye  deepe'ning  sea  ! 

Nor  arms  that  desolate,  nor  years  that  flee, 

Nor  hearts  that  fail,  can  utterly  deflower 

This  grassy  floor  of  sacramental  power 

Wliere  we  now  stand  commu'nicants- — even  We, 

We  of  this  latter,  still  protestant  age, 

With  priestly  ministrations  of  the  Sun 

And  Moon  and  multitudinous  quire  of  stars 

Maintain  this  consecration,  and  assuage 

With  tender  thoughts  the  past  of  weary  wars. 

Masking 'with  good  that  ill  which  cannot  be  undone. 


ON    THE    GRAVE    OF  BISHOP   KEN.         269 


ON    THE    GRAVE    OF    BISHOP    KEN, 

AT     FROME,     IN     SOMERSETSHIRE. 

Let  other  thoughts,  where'er  I  roam, 

Ne'er  from  my  memory  cancel 
The  coffin-fashioned  tomb  at  Frome 

That  hes  behind  the  chancel ; 
A  basket-work  where  bars  are  bent, 

Iron  in  place  of  osier, 
And  shapes  above  that  represent 

A  mitre  and  a  crosier. . 

These  signs  of  him  that  slumbers  there 

The  dignity  betoken ; 
These  iron  bars  a  heart  declare 

Hard  bent  but  never  broken ; 
This  form  pourtrays  how  souls  like  his, 

Their  pride  and  passion  quelling, 
Preferr'd  to  earth's  high  palaces 

This  calm  and  narrow  dwelling. 

There  with  the  church-yard's  common  dust 
He  loved  his  own  to  mingle ; 

The  faith  in  which  he  placed  his  trust 
Was  nothing  rare  or  single ; 


270  OTHER    SCENES. 

Yet  laid  he  to  the  sacred  wall 
As  close  as  he  was  able,  • 

The  blessed  crumbs  might  almost  fall 
Upon  him  from  God's  table. 

Who  was  this  Father  of  the  Church, 

So  secret  in  his  glory  ? 
In  vain  might  antiquarians  search 

For  record  of  his  story ; 
But  preciously  tradition  keeps 

The  fame  of  holy  men  ; 
So  there  the  Christian  smiles  or  weeps 

For  love  of  Bishop  Ken. 

A  name  his  country  once  forsook, 

But  now  with  joy  inherits, 
Confessor  in  the  Church's  book, 

And  Martyr  in  the  Spirit's  ! 
That  dared  with  royal  power  to  cope, 

In  peaceful  faith  persisting, 
A  braver  Becket — who  could  hope 

To  conquer  unresisting  ! 


OCCASIONAL    POEMS. 


THE    FUNERAL    OF    NAPOLEON. 

All  nature  is  stiff  in  the  chill  of  the  air, 
The  sun  looks  around  with  a  smile  of  despair ; 
'Tis  a  day  of  delusion,  of  glitter  and  gloom, 
As  brilliant  as  glory,  as  cold  as  the  tomb. 

The  pageant  is  passing— the  multitude  sways — 
Awaiting,  pursuing,  the  line  wiih  its  gaze. 
With  the  tramp  of  battalion,  the  tremor  of  drums, 
And  the  grave  exultation  of  trumpets  he  comes. 

It  passes  !  what  passes?     He  comes  !  who  is  He? 
Is  it  Joy  too  profound  to  be  uttered  in  glee? 
Oh,  no  !  it  is  Death,  the  Dethroner  of  old, 
Now  folded  in  purple  and  girded  with  gold  ! 

It  is  Death,  who  enjoys  the  magnificent  car, 
It  is  Death,  whom  the  warriors  have  brought  from  afar. 
It  is  Death,  to  whom  thousands  have  knelt  on  the  shore, 
And  sainted  the  bark  and  the  treasure  it  bore. 


272  OCCASIONAL    POEMS. 

What  other  than  He,  in  his  terrible  calm, 
Could  mingle  for  myriads  the  bitter  and  balm, 
Could  hush  into  silence  this  ocean  of  men, 
And  bid  the  wild  passion  be  still  in  its  den  ? 

"What  other  than  He  could  have  placed  side  by  side 
The  chief  and  the  humblest,  that  serving  him  died, 
Could  the  blood  of  the  past  to  the  mourner  atone. 
And  let  all  bless  the  name  that  has  orphaned  their  own? 

From  the  shades  of  the  olive,  the  palm,  and  the  pine, 
From  the  banks  of  the  Moskwa,the  Nile,  and  the  Rhine, 
From  the  sands  and  the  glaciers,  in  armament  dim, 
Come  they  who  have  perished  for  France  and  for  Him. 

Rejoice,  ye  sad  Mothers,  whose  desolate  years 
Have  been  traced  in  the  deseit  of  earth  by  their  tears. 
The  Children  for  whom  ye  have  hearts  that  sdll  burn, 
In  this  triumph  of  Death — it  is  they  that  return. 

And  Ye  in  whose  breast  dwell  the  images  true 
Of  parents  that  loved  Him  still  better  than  you, 
No  longer  lament  o'er  a  cenotaph  urn. 
In  this  triumph  of  Death — it  is  they  that  return. 

From  legion  to  legion  the  watchword  is  sped — 
"  Long  life  to  the  Emperor — Hfe  to  the  dead  !" 
The  prayer  is  accomplished — his  ashes  remain 
'Mid  the  people  he  loved,  on  the  banks  of  the  Seine. 


IRELAND,   1847.  273 


In  dominions  of  Thought  that  no  traitor  can  reach, 
Through  the  kingdoms  of  Fancy,  the  regions  of  Speech, 
O'er  the  world  of  Emotions,  Napoleon  shall  reign 
'Mid  the  people  he  loved,  on  the  banks  of  the  Seine. 

Paris,  December,  1840. 


IRELAND,    1S47. 


The  woes  of  Ireland  are  too  deep  for  verse  : 
The  Muse  has  many  sorrows  of  her  own ; 
Griefs  she  may  well  to  sympathy  rehearse, 
Pains  she  may  soften  by  her  gentle  tone. 

But  the  stark  death  in  hunger  and  sharp  cold, 
The  slow  exhaustion  of  our  mortal  clay, 
Are  not  for  her  to  touch. — She  can  but  fold 
Her  mantle  o'er  her  head,  and  weep  and  pray. 

O  gracious  Ruler  of  the  rolling  hours  ! 
Let  not  this  agony  last  over  long  ; 
Restore  a  nation  to  its  manly  powers, 
Give  back  its  suffe'rings  to  the  sphere  of  Song. 


VOL.  I. 


274  OCCASIONAL    POEMS. 


A    MONUMENT    FOR    SCUTARI, 

AFTER    THE    CRIMEAN    WAR,    SEPTEMBER,    1855. 

"The  cypresses  of  Scutari 

In  stem  magnificence  look  down 
On  the  bright  lake  and  stream  of  sea 

And  glittering  theatre  of  town ; 
Above  the  throng  of  rich  kiosks, 

Above  the  towers  in  triple  tire, 
Above  the  domes  of  loftiest  mosques, 

Those  pinnacles  of  death  aspire." 

Thus,  years  ago,  in  grave  descant, 

The  traveller  sang  those  ancient  trees 
That  Eastern  grace  delights  to  plant 

In  reverence  of  man's  obsequies ; 
But  time  has  shed  a  golden  haze 

Of  memory  round  the  cypress  glooms, 
And  gladly  he  reviews  the  days 

He  wandered  'mid  those  alien  tombs. 

Now  other  passion  rules  the  soul ; 

And  Scutari's  familiar  name 
Arouses  thoughts  beyond  controul, 

A  tangled  web  of  pride  and  shame ; 


A    MONUMENT  FOR    SCUTARI.  275 

No  more  shall  that  fair  word  recall 

The  Moslem  and  his  Asian  rest, 
But  the  dear  brothers  of  us  all 

Rent  from  their  mother's  bleeding  breast. 

Calmly  our  warriors  moulder  there, 

Uncoffined,  in  the  sandy  soil, 
Once  festered  in  the  sultry  glare, 

Or  wasted  in  the  wintn,'  toil 
No  verdure  on  those  graves  is  seen. 

No  shade  obstructs  the  garish  day ; 
The  tender  dews  to  keep  them  green 

Are  wept,  alas  !  too  far  away ; 

Are  wept  in  homes  their  smiles  shall  bless 

No  more,  beyond  the  welte'ring  deep. 
In  cottages  now  fatherless 

On  English  mead  or  Highland  steep, 
In  palaces  by  common  grief 

Made  level  with  the  meanest  room, — 
One  agony,  and  one  relief — 

The  conscience  of  a  glorious  doom  ! 

For  there,  too,  is  Thermopylae  ; — 

As  on  the  dank  vEgean  shore. 

By  this  bright  portal  of  the  sea 

Stood  the  Devoted  as  of  yore ; 

T  2 


276  OCCASIONAL    POEMS. 

When  Greece  herself  was  merged  in  night, 
The  Spartan  held  his  honour's  meed — 

And  shall  no  pharos  shed  the  light 
To  future  time  of  Britain's  deed  ? 

Masters  of  Form  ! — if  such  be  now — 

On  sense  and  powers  of  Art  intent, 
To  match  this  mount  of  sorrow's  brow 

Devise  your  seemliest  monument : 
One  that  will  symbolize  the  cause 

For  which  this  might  of  manhood  fell, 
Obedience  to  their  country's  laws, 

And  duty  to  God's  truth  as  well. 

I>et,  too,  the  old  Miltonic  Muse, 

That  trumpeted  "  the  scattered  bones 
Of  saints  on  Alpine  mountains,"  use 

Ra'cille  of  forgotten  tones ; 
Let  some  one,  worthy  to  be  priest 

Of  this  high  altar  of  renown. 
Write  in  the  tongues  of  West  and  East 

Who  bore  this  cross,  who  wore  this  crown. 

Write  that,  as  Britain's  peaceful  sons 
Luxurious  rich,  well-tended  poor, 

Fronted  the  foeman's  steel  and  guns. 
As  each  would  guard  his  household  door ; 


A    MONUMENT  FOR    SCUTARI.  277 

So,  in  those  ghastly  halls  of  pain 
Where  thousand  hero-sufferers  lay, 

Some  smiled  in  thought  to  fight  again, 
And  most  unmurmu'ring  passed  away. 

Write  that,  when  pride  of  human  skill 

Fell  prostrate  with  the  weight  of  care, 
And  men  prayed  out  for  some  strong  will. 

Some  reason  'mid  the  wild  despair, 
The  loving  heart  of  woman  rose 

To  guide  the  hand  and  dear  the  eye, 
Gave  hope  amid  the  sternest  woes. 

And  saved  what  man  had  left  to  die.* 

Write  every  name — lowlier  the  birth. 

Loftier  the  death  ! — and  trust  that  when 
On  this  regenerated  earth 

Rise  races  of  ennobled  men. 
They  will  remember — these  were  they 

Who  strove  to  make  the  nations  free, 
Not  only  from  the  sword's  brute  sway, 

But  from  the  spirit's  slavery, 

•  Florence  Nightingale. 


278  OCCASIONAL    POEMS. 


ON    THE    PEACE, 

May,  1856. 

Come  in,  wild  Hopes  !  tliat  towards  the  dawning  East 

Uprose  so  high  :  now  be  content  to  stand, 

Like  hooded  hawks  upon  the  falconer's  hand, 

Awhile  expectant  of  the  promised  feast. 

Peace  is  proclaimed  !  the  captives  are  releast ! 

Yet  yearns  the  exile  from  the  alien  strand, — 

Yet  chafes  and  struggles  Europe's  fairest  land, — 

Untamed  by  priestly  kings  or  kingly  priest. 

O  blessed  Peace  !  if  peace  were  peace  indeed, — 

Based  upon  justice  and  the  eternal  laws 

Which  make  the  free  intent  of  Man  the  cause 

Of  all  enduring  thought  and  virtuous  deed. 

But  'tis  not  so  :  we  know  we  do  but  pause, 

Awaiting  fiercer  strife  and  nobler  meed. 


CRIMEAN   INVALID    SOLDIERS    REAPING.     279 


CRIMEAN    INVALID    SOLDIERS    REAPING 
AT    ALDERSHOT. 

Reap  ye  the  ripe  ripe  corn, 

Ye  have  reap'd  the  green  and  the  young, 
The  fruits  that  were  scarcely  born, — 

The  fibres  that  just  were  strung. 

Ye  have  reaped,  as  the  Destinies  reap. 
The  \vit  and  the  worth  of  Man, 

The  tears  that  we  vainly  weep — 
The  deeds  that  we  vainly  plan. 

Now  reap  as  the  generous  life 
Of  the  pregnant  Earth  commands, 

Each  seed  with  a  future  rife, 
And  the  work  of  a  thousand  hands.* 


*  Beautifully  illustrated  by  Mr.  Walter  Severn. 


28o  OCCASIONAL    POEMS. 


COLUMBUS    AND   THE   MAY-FLOWER.* 

O  LITTLE  fleet !  that  on  thy  quest  divine 
Sailedst  from  Palos  one  bright  autumn  morn, 
Say,  has  old  Ocean's  bosom  ever  borne 
A  freight  of  Faith  and  Hope  to  match  with  thine  ? 

Say,  too,  has  Heaven's  high  favour  given  again 
Such  consummation  of  desire,  as  shone 
About  Columbus,  when  he  rested  on 
The  new-found  world  and  married  it  to  Spain  ? 

Answer — Thou  refuge  of  the  Freeman's  need, — 
Thou  for  whose  destinies  no  kings  looked  out. 
Nor  sages  to  resolve  some  mighty  doubt, — 
Thou  simple  May-FloAver  of  the  salt-sea  mead  ! 

When  Thou  wert  wafted  to  that  distant  shore — 
Gay  flowers,  bright  birds,  rich  odours,  met  thee  not : 
Stem  Nature  hail'd  thee  to  a  sterner  lot. — 
God  gave  free  earth  and  air,  and  gave  no  more. 


*  Written  as  prefatory   stanzas  to  Hunter's  "  Collection  concerning  the 
Founders  of  New  Plymouth." 


CHINA,  1S57.  2S1 


Thus  to  men  cast  in  that  heroic  mould 
Came  Empire  such  as  Spaniard  never  knew — 
Such  Empire  as  beseems  the  just  and  true ; 
And  at  the  last,  almost  unsought,  came  Gold. 

But  He  who  rules  both  calm  and  stormy  days 
Can  guard  that  people's  heart,  that  nation's  health, 
Safe  on  the  perilo'us  heights  of  power  and  wealth, 
As  in  the  straitness  of  the  ancient  ways. 


CHINA,    1857. 


The  little  Athens  from  its  pillared  hill 
Yet  reigns  o'er  spacious  tracts  of  human  mind 
Britain,  within  her  narrow  bounds  confined, 
Bends  East  and  West  to  her  sagacious  will : 
While,  recordless  alike  for  good  or  ill, 
China  extends  her  name  o'er  so  much  rind 
Of  the  round  earth,  and  only  stunts  mankind 
To  mean  desires,  low  acts,  and  puny  skill. 
Enormous  masses  of  monotonous  life  ! 
Teaching  how  weak  is  mere  material  power 
To  roll  our  world  toward  its  heavenly  goal : 
Teaching  how  vain  is  each  exhausted  hour 
That  does  not  mingle  in  the  mental  strife, 
That  does  not  raise  or  purify  the  soul. 


282  OCCASIONAL    POEMS. 


AN    ENVOY    TO    AN    AMERICAN    LADY, 

Beyond  the  vague  Atlantic  deep, 
Far  as  the  farthest  prairies  sweep, 
Where  forest-glooms  the  nerve  appal, 
Where  burns  the  radiant  Western  fall, 
One  duty  lies  on  old  and  young, — 
With  filial  piety  to  guard, 
As  on  its  greenest  native  sward, 
The  glory  of  the  English  tongue. 
That  ample  speech  !     That  subtle  speech  ! 
Apt  for  the  need  of  all  and  each  : 
Strong  to  endure,  yet  prompt  to  bend 
Where\'er  human  feelings  tend. 
Preserve  its  force — expand  its  powers ; 
And  through  the  maze  of  civic  life. 
In  Letters,  Commerce,  even  in  Strife, 
Forget  not  it  is  yours  and  ours. 


ENGLAND    AND    AMERICA,    1S63.  2S, 


0 


ExXGLANU    AND   AMERICA,   1S63. 

We  only  know  that  in  the  sultry  weather, 
Men  toiled  for  us  as  in  the  steaming  room, 
And  in  our  minds  we  hardly  set  together 
The  bondman's  penance  and  the  freeman's  loom. 

We  never  thought  the  jealous  gods  would  store 
For  us  ill  deeds  of  time-forgotten  graves, 
Nor  heeded  that  the  May-Flower  one  day  bore 
A  freight  of  pilgrims,  and  another  slaves. 

First  on  the  bold  upholders  of  the  wrong, 
And  last  on  us,  the  heavy-laden  years 
Avenge  the  cruel  triumphs  of  the  strong — 
Trampled  affections,  and  derided  tears. 

Labour,  degraded  from  her  high  behest, 
Cries  "  Ye  shall  know  I  am  the  living  breath, 
And  not  the  curse  of  Man.     Ye  shall  have  Rest- 
The  rest  of  Famine  and  the  rest  of  Death." 

Oh,  happy  distant  hours  !  that  shall  restore 
Honour  to  work,  and  pleasure  to  repose, 
Hasten  your  steps,  just  heard  above  the  roar 
Of  wildering  passions  and  the  crash  of  foes. 


284  OCCASIONAL    POEMS. 


ON  THE  OPENING  OF  THE  FIRST   PUBLIC 
PLEASURE-GROUND  AT  BIRMINGHAM, 

August,  1856. 


Soldiers  of  Industry  !  come  forth  : 

Knights  of  the  Iron  Hand  ! 
Past  is  the  menace  of  the  North 

That  frowned  upon  our  land. 
We  have  no  will  to  count  the  cost, 

No  thought  of  what  we  bore 
Now  the  last  warrior's  gaze  has  lost 

The  doomed  Crimean  shore  ! 

II. 

That  shore,  so  precious  in  the  graves 

Of  those  whose  lustrous  deeds 
Consecrate  Balaklava's  waves, 

And  Alma's  flowe'ring  reeds ; 
Where,  at  some  future  festival, 

Our  Russian  foe  will  tell. 
How  British  wrestlers,  every  fall, 

Rose  stronger  than  they  fell. 


OPENING    OF  FIRST  PLEASURE-GROUND.    285 


III. 

Now  town  and  hamlet  cheer  to  see 

Each  bronzed  and  bearded  man, 
Or  murmur  low,  "  'Twas  such  as  he, 

Who  died  at  the  Redan  !  " 
Rest  for  his  worn  or  crippled  frame, 

Rest  for  his  anxious  eye, — 
Rest,  even  from  the  noise  of  Fame, 

A  Nation's  welcome-cry ! 

IV. 

But  Ye, — whose  resolute  intents 

And  sturdy  arms  combine 
To  bend  the'  obdurate  elements 

Of  Earth  to  Man's  design — 
Ye,  to  your  hot  and  constant  task 

Heroically  true, 
Soldiers  of  Industry  !  we  ask, 

"  Is  there  no  Peace  for  you  ?  " 

V. 

It  may  not  be  :  the'  unpausing  march 

Of  toil  must  still  be  yours — 
Conquest,  with  no  triumphant  arch, 

Unsung  by  Troubadours  : 
Yet,  as  the  fiercest  Knights  of  old 

To  give  "  God's  Truce  "  agreed, 
Cry  ye,  who  are  as  brave  and  bold, 

"  God"s  Truce  "  in  Labour's  need. 


286  OCCASIONAL    POEMS. 

VI. 

"God's  Truce"  be  their  device,  who  meet 

To-day  with  generous  zeal 
To  work,  by  many  a  graceful  feat, 

Their  brethren's  future  weal ; 
From  stifling  street  and  popu'lous  mart 

To  guard  this  ample  room, 
For  honest  pleasures  kept  apart, 

And  deck'd  with  green  and  bloom. 

VII. 

Here  let  the  eye  to  toil  minute 

Condemned,  with  joy  behold 
The  fresh  enchantment  of  each  suit 

That  clothes  the  common  mould  : 
Here  let  the  arm  whose  skilful  force 

Controuls  such  mighty  powers, 
Direct  the  infant's  totte'ring  course 

Amid  the  fragrant  bowers. 

VIII. 

Yet  all  in  vain  this  happy  hope, 

In  vain  this  friendly  care. 
Unless  of  loftier  life  the  scope 

In  every  mind  be  there  : 
In  vain  the  fairest,  brightest,  scene, 

If  passion's  sensual  haze 
And  clouded  spirits  lie  between 

To  mar  the  moral  gaze. 


OPENING    OF  FIRST  PLEASURE-GROUND.    287 

IX. 

He  only  at  the  marriage-feast 

Of  Nature  and  of  God 
Sits  worthily  who  sits  released 

From  sin's  and  sorrow's  load  : 
And  then,  on  his  poor  window-sill, 

One  flower  more  pleasure  brings 
Than  all  the  gorgeous  plants  that  fill 

The  restless  halls  of  kings. 

X. 

All  Nature  answers  in  the  tone 

In  which  she  is  addressed  : 
Beneath  Mont  Blanc's  illumined  throne, 

The  peasant  walks  unblessed ; 
The'  Italian  struggles  in  his  bonds, 

Beside  his  glorious  sea, 
And  Beauty  from  all  sight  absconds 

Which  is  not  wise  and  free. 

XI. 

So,  Friends  !  while  gentle  Arts  are  wed 

To  frame  your  perfect  plan, 
Broadcast  be  Truth  and  Knowledge  spread 

O'er  this  rich  soil  of  Man  ! 
Ideal  parks — ideal  shade — 

Lay  out  with  libe'ral  hand — 
But  teach  the  souls  you  strive  to  aid 

To  feel  and  understand. 


2SS  OCCASIONAL    POEMS. 


WORKMAN'S   CHORAL    SONG. 

SUNG   AT   THE   OPENING   OF   THE   DUTCH    INTERNATIONAL 
EXHIBITION,  AT  AMSTERDAM,  JULY   15,   1869. 

(Paraphrased fro7H  the  Dutch.) 

No  monster  of  Iron  on  gunpowder  fed, 
No  clangor  of  Steel,  no  whizzing  of  Lead, 

Make  the  blood  in  our  arteries  tingle ; 
But  the  whirl  of  the  wheel,  and  the  whistle  of  steam, 
And  the  bubbling  hiss  of  the  seething  stream. 

Are  the  sounds  where  our  sympathies  mingle. 

No  Laurel  that  drips  with  the  blood  of  the  brave, 
No  crown  that  hangs  over  the  conqueror's  grave, 

No  wreath  that  is  woven  in  weeping — 
The  Olive  that  circles  the  forehead  of  toil, 
The  meed  of  the  master  of  metal  and  soil, 

Is  the  fruit  that  we  glory  in  reaping. 

Oh  !  the  roar  and  the  foam  of  the  fiery  stream  ! 
Oh  !  the  rush  and  the  shriek  of  the  bursting  steam  ! 

No  warrior's  clarion  is  louder  ; 
We,  too,  have  our  iron,  our  steel,  and  our  lead, 
But  ours  is  living  and  theirs  is  dead, 

And  the  music  of  Peace  is  the  prouder. 


WORKMAN'S    CHORAL    SONG.  289 


Tlieu  a  Song  shall  arise  in  melodious  might, 

To  God  who  has  severed  the  Dark  from  the  Light, 

And  the  Work  and  the  Workman  created ; 
By  the  play  of  the  muscles  He  holds  us  in  health, 
J3y  the  sweat  of  the  brow  can  endow  us  with  wealth, 

In  tlie  love  of  our  labour  elated. 

We  sow  for  the  weal  of  the  loved  ones  at  home, 
We  know  in  good  time  that  the  har\'est  will  come,— 

He  wins  who  has  honestly  striven  : 
Our  toil  is  the  salt  of  the  bread  of  to-day, 
And  the  food  of  our  hearts  is  the  Faith  that  can  say, 

"  We,  too,  have  our  Rest  and  our  Heaven." 


voT..  r. 


290  OCCASIONAL    POEMS. 


ON  THE   OPENING  OF   THE  ALBERT 
HALL, 

South  Kensington,  May  i,  1S71.* 

O  PEOPLE  of  this  favoured  land 

Within  this  peaceful  Orbit  met, 

We  strike  the  chords  with  trembling  hand. 

The  voice  within  us  falters  yet : 

AVhile  on  this  point  of  time  we  stand, 

Shall  we  remember  or  forget  ? 

Wc  must  remember  those  good  days 
When  first  we  bade  the  Nations  fill 
The  fairy  Halls  we  dared  to  raise, 
By  Genius  wed  to  earnest  Will, — 
And  all  was  pleasure,  power,  and  praise, 
The  fair  reward  of  toil  and  skill. 

So  let  this  gracious  memory  veil 
From  present  thoughts  the  later  woe, 
Now  that  the  blood-red  clouds  grow  pale. 
Now  that  no  more  the  trumpets  blow, — 


•  Set  to  very  effective  music  by  t)ie  Cavaliere  Giro  Pinsuti,  and  sung  by  a 
full  choir. 


ON  THE   OPENING   OF  THE  ALBERT  HALL.    291 


No  more  beneath  tlie  fiery  liail 
Children  in  terror  come  and  go. 

Be  this  a  feast  of  Hope  !  the  flowers 
Of  Spring  the  waste  of  War  repair  : 
The  quiet  work  of  happier  hours 
Dispels  the  load  of  human  care  : 
For  Industry  and  Art  are  Powers 
That  know  no  End  and  no  Despair. 


u  2 


IN    MEMORIAM. 


LADY    CAMPBELL. 

Gently  supported  by  the  ready  aid 

Of  loving  hands,  whose  little  work  of  toil 

Her  grateful  prodigality  repaid 

^Vith  all  the  benediction  of  her  smile, 

She  turned  her  failing  feet 

To  the  soft-pillowed  seat, 

Dispensing  kindly  greetings  all  the  while. 

Before  the  tranquil  beauty  of  her  face 

I  bowed  in  spirit,  thinking  that  she  were 

A  suff'ring  Angel,  whom  the  special  grace 

Of  God  entrusted  to  our  pious  care, 

That  we  might  learn  from  her 

The  art  to  minister 

To  heavenly  beings  in  seraphic  air. 

There  seemed  to  lie  a  weight  upon  her  brain, 
That  ever  pressed  her  blue-veined  eyelids  down. 
But  could  not  dim  her  lustrous  eyes  with  pain, 
Nor  seam  her  forehead  with  the  faintest  frown  : 


LADY   CAMPBELL.  293 

She  was  as  she  were  proud, 

So  young,  to  be  allowed 

To  follow  Him  who  wore  the  thorny  crown. 

Nor  was  she  sad,  but  over  every  mood. 

To  which  her  lightly-pliant  mind  gave  birth, 

Gracefully  changing,  did  a  spirit  brood, 

Of  quiet  gaiety,  and  serenest  mirth  ; 

And  thus  her  voice  did  How, 

So  beautifully  low, 

A  stream  whose  music  was  no  tiling  of  earth. 

Now  long  that  instrument  has  ceased  to  sound, 

Now  long  that  gracious  form  in  earth  has  lain 

Tended  by  nature  only,  and  unwound 

Are  all  those  mingled  threads  of  Love  and  Pain ; 

So  let  me  weep  and  bend 

!My  head  and  wait  the  end, 

Knowing  that  God  creates  not  thus  in  vain. 


294  I^  MEMORIAM. 


GEORGE  VERNON  COLEBROKE. 

Thou  too  art  gone,  and  yet  I  hardly  know 

Why  thou  didst  care  to  go  : 
Thou  wert  so  well  at  heart,  so  spirit-clear, 

So  heavenly-calm,  though  here ; 
But  thus  it  is ;  and,  it  would  seem,  no  more 

Can  we,  who  on  the  shore 
Of  the  loud  world  still  walk,  escape  the  din, 

And  lie  awhile  within 
The  quiet  sunlight  of  thy  filmless  mind 

And  rise  refreshed,  refined  ; 
Yet  am  I  mild  and  tempered  in  my  grief. 

Having  a  sure  relief; — 
For  these  dear  hours  on  life's  dull  length  were  sprent. 

By  rarest  accident. 
And  noiv  I  have  thee  by  me  when  I  will, 

Hear  thy  wise  words,  and  fill 
My  soul  with  thy  calm  looks  \  no7o  I  can  tame 

111  thoughts  by  thy  mere  name. 
Death,  the  Divorcer,  has  united  us 

With  bands  impervious 
To  any  tooth  of  Time,  for  they  arc  wove 

Of  the  same  texture  as  an  Angel's  Love. 

Fdbniary  23,  1835. 


ARTHUR    AND    HELEN'  HALLAM.  295 


ARTHUR    AND    HELEN    HALLAM. 

A  Brother  and  a  Sister, — these  two  Friends, 
Cast  by  fond  Nature  in  one  common  mould, 
And  waited  on  by  genial  circumstance 
In  all  their  history  of  familiar  love. 
After  a  parting  of  not  quite  four  years, 
Are  peacefully  united  here  once  more. 

He  first,  as  best  beseemed  the  manly  mind, 
Tried  the  dark  wall,  which  has  (or  seems  to  have) 
No  portion  in  the  pleasant  sun  or  stars, 
The  breath  of  flowers  or  morning-song  of  birds, 
The  hand  of  Friendship  or  the  lips  of  Love. 
Whether  her  sad  and  separated  soul 
Received  some  token  from  that  secret  place, 
That  she  might  follow  him  and  meet  him  there, 
Or  whether  God,  displeased  that  anything 
Of  good  or  evil  should  so  long  divide 
Such  undefiled  and  sacred  sympathies. 
Has  made  them  one  again  before  his  face, 
Are  things  that  we  perhaps  shall  never  know. 

Say  not,  O  world  of  short  and  broken  sight ! 
That  these  died  young  :  the  bee  and  butterfly 


296  IN  MEMORIAM. 


Live  longer  in  one  active  sunny  hour 

Than  the  poor  tortoise  in  his  torpid  years : 

The  lofty  flights  of  Thought  through  clear  and  cloud — 

The  labyrinthine  ways  that  Poesy 

Leads  her  beloved,  the  weary  traverses 

Of  Reason,  and  the  haven  of  calm  Faith, 

All  had  been  theirs ;  their  seamless  brows  had  known 

The  seal  of  pain,  the  sacrament  of  tears ; 

And,  unless  Pride  and  Passion  and  bold  Sin 

Are  all  the  rule  and  reckoning  of  our  Being, 

They  have  fulfilled  as  large  a  task  of  life 

As  ever  veteran  on  the  mortal  field. 

Thus  they  who  gave  these  favoured  creatures  birth 
Deem  it  no  hard  infraction  of  the  law 
Which  regulates  the  order  of  our  race. 
That  they  above  their  offspring  raise  the  tomb, 
And  with  parental  piety  discharge 
The  duties  filial  love  delights  to  pay : 
They  read  the  perfect  sense  of  the  design 
In  that  which  seems  exception,  and  they  mourn, 
Not  that  these  dear  ones  are  already  gone. 
But  that  they  linger  still  so  far  behind. 


jMRS.    DENIS  on.  297 


MRS.   DENISON.-^ 

'Tis  right  for  her  to  sleep  between 
Some  of  those  old  Cathedral-walls, 

And  right  too  that  her  grave  is  green 
With  all  the  dew  and  rain  that  falls. 

'Tis  well  the  organ's  solemn  sighs 

Should  soar  and  sink  around  her  rest, 

And  almost  in  her  ear  should  rise 

The  prayers  of  those  she  loved  the  best. 

'Tis  also  well  this  air  is  stirred 

By  Nature's  voices  loud  and  low, 
By  thunder  and  the  chirping  bird, 

And  grasses  whispering  as  they  grow. 

For  all  her  spirit's  earthly  course 

Was  as  a  lesson  and  a  sign 
How  to  o'errule  the  hard  divorce 

That  parts  things  natural  and  divine. 

Undaunted  by  the  clouds  of  fear, 

Undazzled  by  a  happy  day, 
She  made  a  Heaven  about  her  here. 

And  took,  how  much  !  with  her  away. 

Salisi^l'Rv,  Xozr/uif! ,  1S43. 

*  Mrs.  Denison  was  the  first  wife  of  the  Bishop  of  Salisbury,  and  is  buried 
ill  a  grassy  space  enclosed  by  the  cluisters  of  that  cathedral. 


298  IIV  MEMORIAM. 


MARY    AND    AGNES    BERRY. 

Nov.  27,  1852. 

Two  friends  within  one  grave  we  place 

United  in  our  tears, — 
Sisters,  scarce  parted  for  the  space 

Of  more  than  eighty  years  ; 
And  she  whose  bier  is  borne  to-day, 

The  one  the  last  to  go, 
Bears  with  her  thoughts  that  force  their  way 

Above  the  moment's  woe  ; 

Thoughts  of  the  varied  human  life 

Spread  o'er  that  field  of  time — 
The  toil,  the  passion,  and  the  strife. 

The  virtue  and  the  crime. 
Yet  'mid  this  long  tumultuous  scene, 

The  image  on  our  mind 
Of  these  dear  women  rests  serene 

In  happy  bounds  confined. 

AVithin  one  undisturbed  abode 
Their  presence  seems  to  dwell, 

From  which  continual  pleasures  flowed, 
And  countless  graces  fell ; 


MA/^V  AND    AGNES   BERRY.  299 

Not  unbecoming  this  our  age 

Of  decorative  forms, 
Yet  simple  as  the  hermitage 

Exposed  to  Nature's  storms. 

Our  English  grandeur  on  the  shelf 

Deposed  its  decent  gloom, 
And  every  pride  unloosed  itself 

Within  that  modest  room ; 
Where  none  were  sad,  and  few  were  dull, 

And  each  one  said  his  best, 
And  beauty  was  most  beautiful 

With  vanity  at  rest. 

Brightly  the  day's  discourse  rolled  on, 

Still  casting  on  the  shore 
Memorial  pearls  of  days  bygone. 

And  worthies  now  no  more  ; 
And  little  tales  of  long  ago 

Took  meaning  from  those  lips, 
Wise  chroniclers  of  joy  and  woe, 

And  eyes  without  eclipse. 

No  taunt  or  scoff  obscured  the  wit 

That  there  rejoiced  to  reign  ; 
They  never  could  have  laughed  at  it 

If  it  had  carried  pain. 


o 


oo  AV  MEMORIAM. 


There  needless  scandal,  e'en  though  true, 

Provoked  no  bitter  smile. 
And  even  men-of-fashion  grew 

Benignant  for  a  while. 

Xot  that  there  lacked  the  nervous  scorn 

At  every  public  wrong, 
Not  that  a  friend  was  left  forlorn 

V\\it\\  \ictim  of  the  strong  : 
Free  words,  expressing  generous  blood, 

Xo  nice  punctilio  weighed, 
For  deep  and  earnest  womanhood 

Their  reason  underlaid. 

As  generations  onward  came, 

They  loved  from  all  to  win 
Revival  of  the  sacred  flame 

That  glowed  their  hearts  within. 
While  others  in  Time's  greedy  mesh 

The  faded  garlands  flung, 
Their  hearts  went  out  and  gathered  fresh 

Affections  from  the  young. 

Farewell,  dear  ladies  !  in  your  loss 

^^'e  feel  the  past  recede, 
'l"he  gap  our  hands  could  almost  cross 

Is  now  a  gulf  indeed  : 


ATARY  AND    AGNES  BERRY.  301 

Ye,  and  the  days  in  which  your  claims 

And  charms  were  early  known, 
Lose  substance,  and  ye  stand  as  names 

That  History  makes  its  own. 

Farewell !  the  pleasant  social  i)age 

Is  read,  but  ye  remain 
Examples  of  ennobled  age, 

Long  life  without  a  stain  ; 
A  lesson  to  be  scorned  by  none, 

Least  by  the  wise  and  brave, 
Delightful  as  the  winter  sun 

That  gilds  this  open  grave. 


3o2         '  IN  MEMORIAM. 


DRYDEN    AND    THACKERAY. 

(historical  contrast.) 

When  one  whose  nervous  English  verse, 

PubUc  and  party  hates  defied, 
Who  bore  and  bandied  many  a  curse 

Of  angry  times — when  Dryden  died. 

Our  royal  Abbey's  Bishop-Dean  * 
Waited  for  no  suggestive  prayer. 

But,  ere  one  day  closed  o'er  the  scene, 
Craved  as  a  boon  to  lay  him  there. 

The  wayward  faith,  the  faulty  life. 
Vanished  before  a  nation's  pain  ; 

"  Panther  "  and  "  Hind  "  forgot  their  strife, 
And  rival  statesmen  thronged  the  fane. 

O  gentle  Censor  of  our  age  ! 

Prime  master  of  our  ampler  tongue  ! 
^Vho.se  word  of  wit  and  generous  page 

Were  never  wroth  except  with  wrong, — 

*  Dr.  Sprat,  Bishop  of  Rochester  and  Dean  of  Westminster. 


DRYDEN  AND    THACKERAY.  303 


Fielding — without  the  manners'  dross, 

Scott — with  a  spirit's  larger  room, 
What  prelate  deems  thy  grave  his  loss  ? 

What  Halifax  erects  thy  tomb  ?  "•' 

But,  may  be,  He  .who  so  could  draw 
The  hidden  great,  the  humble  wise, 

Yielding  with  them  to  God's  good  lav/, 
Makes  the  Pantheon  where  he  lies.j 

♦  The  Lord  Halifax  sent  to  the  Lady  Elizabeth  and  Mr.  Charles  Dr>-dcn 
her  son,  that  if  they  would  give  him  leave  to  bury  Mr.  Dryden,  he  would 
inter  him  with  a  gentleman's  private  funeral,  and  afterwards  bestow  five 
hundred  pounds  on  a  monument  in  the  Abbey :  which,  as  they  had  no  reason 
to  refuse,  they  accepted. — Biog.  Diet. 

t  A  bust  of  Thackeray  has  now  been  placed  in  Westminster  Abbey  liy 
public  subscription,  and  with  the  sanction  of  Dean  Stanley. 


304  JI^  MEMORIAM. 


THE    DEATH    OF    LIVINGSTONE. 

(iLALA — MAY,    1 8 73.) 

The  swarthy  followers  stood  aloof, 

Unled — unfathered ; 
He  lay  beneath  that  grassy  roof 
Fresh-gathered. 

He  bade  them,  as  they  passed  the  hut, 

To  give  no  warning 
Of  their  still  faithful  presence  but 
"  Good  Morning." 

To  him,  may  be,  through  broken  sleep 

And  pains  abated, 
These  words  were  into  senses  deep 
Translated. 

Dear  dead  salutes  of  wife  and  child, 

Old  kirkyard  greetings ; 
Sunrises  over  hill-sides  wild. 
Heart-beatings  ; 

Welcoming  sounds  of  fresh-blown  seas, 

Of  homeward  travel, 
Tangles  of  thought  last  memories 
Unravel. 


THE    DEATH    OF   LIVINGSTONE.  3^-5 


'Neath  England's  fretted  roof  of  fame- 

With  flowers  adorning 
An  open  grave — comes  up  the  same 
"  Good  Morning." 

Morning  o'er  that  weird  continent 

Now  slowly  breaking — 
Europe  her  sullen  self-restraint 
Forsaking  ! 

Morning  of  sympathy  and  trust 

For  such  as  bore 
Their  Master's  spirit's  sacred  crust 
To  England's  shore. 


\UL.    I. 


GHAZELES. 


Sister  !  I  will  go  with  Thee  ; 

How  can  I  not  go  with  Thee  ? 

What  am  I  for,  but  to  share 

Thought,  and  joy,  and  woe  with  Thee  ? 

I  have  known  the  unstained  peace 

Children  only  know— with  Thee ; 

I  have  watched  the  chequered  blooms 

Of  my  fortune  blow — with  Thee  ; 

I  must  part  the  scanty  hope 

Our  low  fates  bestow — with  Thee  ; 

Wish  I  with  the  great  to  live, 

With  the  wealthy  ?    No  !  with  Thee ; 

Nature's  hand  has  mated  us, — 

Who  but  I  can  go  with  Thee  ? 


GHAZELES.  307 


II. 


There  are  few  to  whom,  expiring,  I  would  say,  Forget 

me  not  ? 
The  busy  world,  the   many-minded, — why  should  it 

forget  me  not  ? 
I  have  never  worn  its  honours,  never  won  its  open 

shame, 
Never  bent  before  it,  never  wooed  it  to  forget  me  not  j 
But  if  e'er  my  hand  has  wakened  grateful  hearts  to 

yearn  to  mine, 
If  I   ever  earned  kind  friendship,  let  those  friends 

forget  me  not. 
And  for  Her  who  was  and  is  my  soul  of  soul — my 

life  of  life — 
Twould  be  wicked  doubt  to  ask  it — Leila  will  forget 

me  not. 
Then  mayst  thou  of  all  remembrance — thou  whose 

knowledge  only  sleeps 
In  the  free-will  of  thy  justice — Father — thou — forget 

me  not ! 


X  2 


3o8  GHAZELES. 


III. 

WRITTEN   AT   AMALFI. 

It  is  the  mid-May  Sun,  that,  rayless  and  peacefully 

gleaming, 
Out  of  its  night's  short  prison,  this  blessed  of  lands  is 

redeeming  ; 
It  is  the  fire  evoked  from  the  hearts  of  the  citron  and 

orange, 
So  that  they  hang,  like  lamps  of  the  day,  translucently 

beaming  ; 
It  is  the  veinless  water,  and  air  unsoiled  b)'  a  vapour, 
Save  what,  out  of  the  fullness  of  life,  from  the  valley 

is  steaming  ; 
It  is  the  olive  that  smiles,  even  he,  the  sad  growth  of 

the  moonlight, 
Over   the   flowers,   whose    breasts   triple-folded   with 

odours  are  teeming  ; 
Yes,  it  is  these  bright  births,  that  to  me  are  a  shame 

and  an  anguish, 
They  are  alive  and  awake, — /  dream,  and  know  I  am 

dreaming ; 
I  cannot  bathe  my  soul  in  this  ocean  of  passion  and 

beauty, — 


GHAZELES.  309 

Not  one  dew-drop  is  on  me  of  all  that  about  me  is 

streaming ; 
Oh  !  I  am  thirsty  for  Life, — I  pant  for  the  freshnef:S 

of  Nature, 
Bound  in  the  World's  dead  sleep — dried  up  by  its 

treacherous  seeming. 


IV, 

TO    


Wherever  Beauty  is,  I  find  thee  there, — 
Through  every  veil  and  guise,  I  find  thee  there  : 
Where  the  low  zephyr  dreams  among  thick  flowers, 
Embalmer  of  sweet  thoughts  I  I  find  thee  there  ; 
Where  full  cascades  leap  down  with  curved  steps, 
Form  of  essential  Grace  !  I  find  thee  there  \ 
In  the  broad  mirror  of  the  summer-sea. 
Crystal  entire  of  Truth  1  I  find  thee  there  ; 
In  the  unshaded  presence  of  the  sun, 
Illuminating  Mind  !  I  find  thee  there ; 
In  the  mild  splendours  which  enjoy  the  night. 
Radiance  of  gentlest  Love  !  I  find  thee  there  ; 
In  the  ecstatic  realms  that  Prayer  reveals. 
There,  Humble  Holiness  !  I  find  thee  there. 

*  These  lines  may  remind  tVie  German   scholar  of  one  of  Gothe's  most 
exquisite  and  moal  uiitranslaieable  Poems. 


3IO  GHAZELES. 


My  own  friend,  my  old  friend  ! 
Time 's  a  soldier  bold,  friend  ! 
Of  his  lofty  prowess 
Many  a  tale  is  told,  friend  ! 
Nations  are  his  puppets, 
To  be  bought  and  sold,  friend  ! 
He  can  mock  the  conqueror. 
Rase  his  strongest  hold,  friend  ! 
Fool  the  stern  philosopher, 
Win  the  miser's  gold,  friend  ! 
But  though  earthly  nature 
Has  so  frail  a  mould,  friend  ! 
What  the  tyrant  cannot  do 
Is  to  make  us  cold,  friend  1 


GIIAZELES. 


VI. 

I've  a  Friend,  a  staunch  Friend  ;  listen,  listen,  Mary, 

mine  ! 
There's  none  such  wherever  Phoebus  winds  his  airy 

line ; 
When  I  rise  at  morn-time, — ere  the  grass  his  dewy 

tears 
Dries  away,  she  meets  me,  beckoning  oft  with  wary 

sign. 
That  I  tread  discreetly,  while  she  shows  how  round 

about 
With  marigolds  and  violets  she  has  pranked  her  dair)- 

fine, — 
That  the  milk,  fresh  steaming,  may  be  sweeter  to  my 

lips, 
CrowTied  with  glowing  blossoms, — so  too  is  it,  faery 

mine  ! 
When  at  eve  out-wearied  I  approach,  she  brings  me 

down 
What  her  own  white  hands  have  pressed — a  flask  of 

chary  wine. 
There  it  is, — the  nectar  !  where  then  is  the  Friend  1 

mean  ? 
\\  here  but  here,  beside  me  }  kiss  me,  bless  me,  Mary 

mine 


GHAZELES. 


VII. 

Shade  not  the  light  within  thine  eyes, 
The  wondrous  hght  within  thine  eyes  ; 
The  Sun  is  all  too  fierce  to  hold 
Light  such  as  that  within  thine  eyes,— 
Yet  is  the  passion  of  his  warmth 
Less  deep  than  that  within  thine  eyes  ; 
The  Moon  is  all  too  cold  to  wear 
Light  such  as  that  within  thine  eyes, — 
Yet  is  her  flame  less  silver-clear 
Than  that  which  glows  within  thine  eyes. 
Thou  art  my  Heaven  ;  my  Sun  and  Moon 
Are  the  mere  light  within  thine  eyes  ; 
Nature,  that  gave  the  world  those  orbs. 
Gave  me  the  light  within  thine  eyes  ; — 
I,  and  I  only,  can  repose 
Within  the  light  within  thine  eyes  ; 
Oh  !  Leila,  what  would  be  my  gloom, 
Without  the  light  within  thine  eyes  ? 


GIIAZELES.  313 


VIII. 

All  things  once  are  things  for  ever ; 
Soul,  once  living,  lives  for  ever  ; 
Blame  not  what  is  only  once, 
When  that  once  endures  for  ever  ; 
Love,  once  felt,  though  soon  forgot, 
Moulds  the  heart  to  good  for  ever  ; 
Once  betrayed  from  childly  faith, 
]\Ian  is  conscious  man  for  ever : 
Once  the  void  of  life  revealed, 
It  must  deepen  on  for  ever. 
Unless  God  fill  up  the  heart 
With  himself  for  once  and  ever  : 
Once  made  God  and  man  at  once, 
God  and  man  are  one  for  ever. 


BALLAD. 


GOOD    NIGHT   AND    GOOD    MORNING. 

A  FAIR  little  girl  sat  under  a  tree, 

Sewing  as  long  as  her  eyes  could  see : 

Then  smoothed  her  work,  and  folded  it  right, 

And  said,  "  Dear  Work  !    Good  Night,  Good  Night ! " 

Such  a  number  ot  rooks  came  over  her  head, 

Crying  "  Caw  !  caw  ! "  on  their  way  to  bed  : 

She  said,  as  she  watched  their  curious  flight, 

"  Little  black  things  !     Good  Night !     Good  Night ! '" 

The  horses  neighed,  and  the  oxen  lowed  : 

The  sheep's  "  Bleat !  bleat ! "  came  over  the  road  : 

All  seeming  to  say,  with  a  quiet  delight, 

"  Good  little  Girl !     Good  Night !     Good  Night  ! " 

She  did  not  say  to  the  Sun  "  Good  Night  ! " 
Though  she  saw  him  there,  like  a  ball  of  light ; 
For  she  knew  he  had  God's  time  to  keep 
All  over  the  world,  and  never  could  sleep. 


GOOD    NIGHT  AND    GOOD    MORNING.      315 

The  tall  pink  foxglove  bowed  his  head — 
The  violets  curtsied  and  went  to  bed  \ 
And  good  little  Lucy  tied  up  her  hair, 
And  said,  on  her  knees,  her  favourite  prayer. 

And  while  on  her  pillow  she  softly  lay 
She  knew  nothing  more  till  again  it  was  day : 
And  all  things  said  to  the  beautiful  sun, 
"  Good    Morning  !    Good    Morning  !    our   work   is 
begun  ! " 


VERSICLES. 


Amid  the  factions  of  the  field  of  life 
The  Poet  held  his  little  neutral  ground, 
And  they  who  mixed  the  deepest  in  the  strife 
Their  evening  way  to  his  seclusion  found. 

There,  meeting  oft  the'  antagonists  of  the  day, 
Who  near  in  mute  defiance  seemed  to  stand, 
He  said  what  neither  would  be  first  to  say, 
And,  having  spoken,  left  them  hand  in  hand. 


I  sent  my  memo'ry  out 

To  chase  a  Thought : 

It  brought  back  doubt  on  doubt, 

But  never  caught 

The  fugitive, — who  will  return  some  day 

When  I've  no  use  for  him  in  work  or  jilay. 


The  heart  that  Passion  never  fired, 
Of  other's  Love  can  nothing  tell — 
How  can  I  teach  you  what's  inspired, 
Unless  you  are  inspired  as  well  ? 


VERSICLES.  317 


Because  your  nature  can  extend 
Its  vision  to  a  needle's  end, 
And  you,  with  self-sufficient  air, 
Announce  the  wonders  you  see  there,— 
You  must  not  murmur  that  some  eye 
Moulded  and  trained  to  range  the  sky, 
May  read  in  yon  far  star  as  clear 
As  you  can  spy  and  potter  here. 


(prefixed  to  palm  leaves.) 

Eastward  roll  the  orbs  of  heaven. 
Westward  tend  the  thoughts  of  men 
Let  the  Poet,  nature-driven, 
Wander  Eastward  now  and  then  : 
There  the  calm  of  life  comparing 
With  his  Europe's  busy  fate. 
Let  him,  gladly  homeward  faring, 
Learn  to  labour  and  to  wait. 


Through  clouds  of  care  mankind  must  move, 
— Each  his  appointed  day ; 
Only  the  glorious  care  of  Love 
Drives  other  clouds  away. 


3i8  VERSICLES. 


Since  in  this  world's  eternal  chorus 
Some  voices  must  be  high,  some  low, 
Let  those  that  like  it  bawl  and  bore  us, 
— But  in  the  things  \ht^'  really  know. 


TO    A.    H.    IT.  319 


TO    A.   H.   H. 

(WRITTEN    IN   THE   FIRST   LEAF  OF  THE  SELECTION    OF    MY 

POEMS.) 

Thou  gleaner  of  the  sunny  hours, 
Harvested  in  the  home  of  God, 
Gild  me  the  future  summer's  hours, 
Revive  the  present  ice-bound  sod  ! 

Thou  gleaner  from  the  darkest  hours 
Of  scattered  good  I  cannot  see, 
Preser\-e  thy  dear  remedial  powers, 
And  shed  them,  as  I  need,  o'er  me  ! 

New  Year's  Day,  1854. 


END   OF   VOL.   I. 


BRADBURY,    AGNEW,    &    CO.,    PRINTERS,    WHITEFRIARS. 


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